[The Palace of Naasis in Henem, Year 3479]
[Two years after August Lunastre's departure for the Obsidian Sea.]
[+++]
Autumn marked the turn of the season where the air carried a familiar chill. It was when the frost marred the crystals on the cavern ceiling high above, casting the continent of the Blackbaast in fainter daylight.
And it also meant that Artemis's patrols of the Palace grounds were far more reserved. As Captain of the House Guard, he was usually strict to his routine, and often didn't go about the more menial parts of his day like eating or training before he had completed at least one round.
But the past couple of weeks had been different. Soon, his older brother would return to the Capital.
And after the public had engorged themselves with festivities, they would duel once more, as had been promised.
He was adamantly determined to win.
Lanterns had been hung from posts embedded in the sand of the Palace's private courtyard, allowing him to dance along with the shadows that pursued him wildly as they spun in graceful circles.
He avoided them as if they were a plague that sought his life, as if they were the strikes of an enemy, the blows of a graceful fighter, just like his brother.
It was the only way he could train without a partner.
Artemis struck forward with his curved blade, slashing through the air three-fold in a serpentine, incalculable manner. He had gradually begun to weave these untraceable movements into the sword style that had been taught to him since birth. It was all in hopes that he would be able to defeat that person who was far more skilled than he was.
He paused for a moment, his exhausted pants echoing through the large room. Sweat pooled at the edges of his shirt, his medium-length hair dripping with the proof of his diligence.
This time… I'll finally win against you in a duel… brother.
A dull, constant pain spread over his back, causing him to wince through gritted teeth as he walked towards the edge of the courtyard, dropping his blade into the sand.
He gradually removed his button-up shirt as he stood before a patch of mirrored roses, one of the more popular blossom choices in the Palace. They dutifully bore his reflection, displaying the marks on his back and shoulder that twisted and churned.
Black marks like coruscating tattoos swirled over his skin, gradually shifting back and forth like serpents.
These really were never just birth marks… why have they decided to act up now?
He grimaced as he studied himself in the mirrored roses. These were marks he had been born with, they were nothing new. But the pain was. He had heard of nothing like this before, and even after instructing one of his attendants to bring him every medical book the Palace had available, sifting through them over weeks, he had found nothing of value pertaining to it.
Of course, he wouldn't have trusted the Palace physicians to examine him.
Any man who served under his father would certainly and immediately relay the information to him. And then some dramatic indictment would ensue, paraded as some masquerade against the Church of Saint Cade or Saint Cyro as a magical oddity, something Daemonic in Origin.
But his men, his attendants and advisors, as well as the House Guard were all people he had hand-picked, combing all of their lives for any connections to his father. He was sure there were spies amongst them, but the majority of these figures were people he could trust with his lives.
That was his right as the supposed bastard son of the Witch-King, the Captain of the Guard, the Crownless Prince.
He slipped his shirt back on, letting out an exhausted sigh as he wiped remnant sweat from his forehead.
It should be about time for a patrol…
I need to find my Guard.
He grabbed his fur-hemmed coat from the stone seating at the side of the courtyard, throwing it over his shoulders as he waltzed out towards the exterior garden.
First he made his way through the exterior halls of the Palace, where the verandas overlooked the sprawling city of towers and bridges, decorated with the fantastical multi-coloured lanterns that spilled brilliance into its depths. Then to the kitchens just past the private courtyard, where ovens stirred and pots whistled, but no attendants whisked about.
Why is no one attending to the kitchen? Even at night there is something to be done…
This was truly odd. The courtyard had been constructed past the kitchens for that very reason. The constant noise and distraction made it a perfect spot to conceal the sort of training that the Princes of Henem did. And now there was none of that. Where had the attendants gone?
Next, he checked the wing of the Palace he was in charge of. Situated past a brilliant path of marbled stone and intricate archways bedazzled with myriad blossoms, cast in the faint glow of lantern-light, there was a large spire-structure that Artemis had been given control over. As Captain of the Guard, this was where he kept the House Guard, as well as his dozens of personal attendants, maidservants, and Clergy. To a lesser extent, this was also where the Hunt was situated, an organisation under the Witch-King responsible for Hunting seditious publishers or traitors.
But he was predisposed to hating these members of the Hunt, and so Artemis had always shirked his responsibility to look after them, leaving them to their own devices, and even restricting how much they could interact with or prod his own court of staff.
And yet, despite all of these people who should have been bustling about the Guard's Ward, it was eerily silent.
He scratched his head in annoyance, glancing about.
For the life of him, Artemis couldn't figure out where his advisors and guard had gone.
More than that, his Archknights seemed particularly absent. He could always feel their presence, how they lurked in the shadows as they observed his surroundings, constant in their protection over him.
Did I forget about a holiday again…?
Father will be angry…
He pressed his fingers gently to the side of his head, as if massaging it would stir the memories he had stowed away as if they were pointless letters. But nothing of value came to mind as he stood in the garden.
Have they gone out to drink again? If that's the case, this punishment will be severe… the third time I've let them get away with it…
Not much happens here, but they should really take their jobs seriously.
Admonishment? I don't have to beat or kill them like Father would… maybe I'll meticulously examine their daily lives to make sure they never drink a single droplet of alcohol again…
A devious smile curled up his lips.
Yes, that's a wonderful idea.
A shrill scream rang out through the splendorous but lonely halls of the Palace, shaking him out of his thoughts.
And a woman ran past, a gorgeous woman of vermilion. Dressed in the attire of his attendants, but all the more divine. She had pale-red hair that flowed down her shoulders and back like rainfall, and a blanket of freckles like stars plastered on her cheeks. And all of that beauty was torn away by the terribly fearful expression on her face.
Shadow closed in around her, spilling from the carved decorum of the stone Palace walls, enshrouding the marble pillars that held up the frescoed ceiling. Like a dark abyssal sea, it spilled inwards in torrential waves that tore upon the floor below, replaced quickly by an endless pit of nothingness.
"Miss!" Artemis called out, drawing his blade from its sheath as if it would do any good against the flood of shadow. "Are you alright!? Miss!"
It was like she couldn't hear him. That was the likeliest explanation, he could barely hear himself.
What is going on!? What is that darkness!? It swallows everything, leaving nothing behind!
The woman's shifting gaze finally caught attention of him standing not too far away. Her bare feet which pitter-pattered in a frenzy across the stone quickly shifted their pace, starting to run directly towards him. He reached out a hand, ready to embrace her and flee the torrential darkness, but as he watched her approach, he knew it was a pointless endeavour to flee. This darkness was faster than any human could be, a frail servant or a Captain of the Guard both.
Perhaps if he had left her, he would have made it himself.
But the darkness opened up below them both, caught in the reverie of the silence. And descent was going to become their Fate. So with the last bit of space he had on the crumbling stone, he gathered strength in his step and leaned forward.
He jumped across the crumbling chasm, reaching out towards the attendant. His fingers grazed hers, his mind racing. What could he do? He couldn't grasp at the crumbling stone, it had already been endowed with the creeping darkness. If he was able to stab his sword into the liquid shadow by some method, he could hold fast to it. But then how would he manage to pull them both back up?
None of his options were good, and none of them mattered. In the time it took for him to calculate his moves, the two of them had already begun tumbling into the endless and tenebrous shadow.
[+++]
He hadn't quite considered when he had landed. There were too many things assaulting him at once to remember. But he found himself in the presence of nothing at all. The horizon was a divide between a sea of pearl and a sky of ebony, he could see nothing past that in the slightest.
A white, powdery substance stained his black cloak, seeping into the fine-granuled surface of his boots which he had only just polished. Each exasperated breath filled his lungs with this powder, causing him to cough and sputter more frequently, more desperately searching for oxygen as he collapsed onto the ground.
He stayed on his hands and knees for the longest time, trying to regain himself. At the same time, so many thoughts, inquiries, and fears were bursting out of his head. He thought he might explode simply from the overwhelming pressure that permeated his body.
And the pain— the pain of the ink on his back— was nauseatingly powerful. It wasn't like before, like when it had been pulsating dully. It was sharp and dastardly, like hot irons being placed against his skin, like he was being perpetually branded. He had long become used to pain, he only grimaced instead of groaned.
But it was still blinding, enough so that he questioned the sight of the reddish-black miasma that curled between his fingers, dancing and waving about like blades of grass, like tendrils of beasts.
It spanned outwards through the powder like ivy, creating peaks and crags of ivory dunes on each side of the cascading tendrils that coalesced far ahead of him.
A terrible sphere of hatred. He could feel its intense malice. Coruscating black liquid that hovered in the air, barely suspending above the ivy-like tendrils that shot up from the white powder.
He saw distinct yet subtle features pop out of the surface of the black liquid that would spike outwards before dissipating again. It was hard to discern these features, like hidden designs that would only be clearly visible once adamantly focused on. And Artemis was able to do just this, even through the haze brought about by the pain and his struggle to breathe.
It was the shape of a face… a terrifying, monstrous grin.
It parted its lips, and with the most eerie, inscrutable and insufferable tone, spoke towards him.
"A Hunter? Risen in the Cradle of Ash…"
It chuckled, the liquid mass pulsating as the tendrils underneath it swelled, as if waterways moving the liquid along, cascading towards Artemis at a honeyed pace.
"Have you come to Hunt?"