Zubotu paced the length of the war room, the soft thud of his boots a counterpoint to the tension coiled in the air. Every step felt heavier now, as if Kael's report had been weighted with stone and handed directly into his chest. The past few days had unraveled the confidence he once wore like armor. Strange fires. Whispers of monsters rising from the mist. Baros wielding power not seen in generations. He had believed the Zuli were prepared. Superior. Enlightened. But power without knowledge was a blade without a hilt.
"Another scouting party," Zubotu declared at last, his voice low, clipped, brimming with fury barely held in check. "A small, discreet group. They will observe the aftermath, gauge their losses, and remain unseen. No engagement is permitted." His gaze sharpened. "We need to understand what we are truly facing."
There were murmurs among the advisors, the faint rustle of cloth and uncertainty. He turned to one of his senior guards, a seasoned warrior with a scarred brow and eyes like a hunting hawk. "Arken. Assemble a team of our most experienced trackers. Scouts who remember what it means to be silent. They leave at dawn."
Arken bowed stiffly. "Yes, King Zubotu."
"Kael stays behind," Zubotu added, his voice growing harder. "His judgment is compromised. He's rattled, unsure. Until I know he can battle his own shadows, I cannot rely on him."
A few raised brows among the council, but none dared speak. Kael was no minor figure. He was supposed to be Zubotu's next in line for General, destined to rise and take over where Tharos' untimely death came. His sidelining was as political as it was personal. Zubotu's gaze drifted, distant for a moment, as if his mind stepped into a place he rarely allowed it to go. His jaw clenched, and with visible effort, he said:
"Send word to the Ninji. I wish to speak with Ofeus." He raised a hand to cut off the murmurs before they began. "Tell him I require his expertise in navigating the outlands. His unseen presence. Perhaps the 'viewing wells' can offer us some... clarity." The words tasted sour on his tongue. The Ninji had always been the outliers. Useful, but he felt weak asking for their help or guidance. Allies only because the world had demanded it. But now Zubotu knew better than to let pride blind him.
"Sire," one of the advisors said quietly, "Ofeus is still within our walls."
Zubotu stiffened. Then, with a sigh, he nodded. "Good. I'll not send a message. I want it personal."
He turned to Alekius, who had stood silent at the edge of the chamber, his posture alert, if uncertain.
"Alekius," Zubotu said, voice level but sharp with expectation. "This will be a task for you. Speak with Ofeus. Hear what he knows, or what he suspects. Be respectful, but cautious. He sees more than he says, and speaks less than he knows."
Alekius straightened. "Yes, father. I'll find him now."
As the prince turned and exited, his footsteps swift but measured, Zubotu returned to the war table. Maps had been strewn across it, layers of parchment showing borders old and new, trade routes that no longer existed, battlefields turned graveyards. His eyes lingered on the region marked Baros. The ink was faded there. Smudged. As if the land itself resisted being claimed. He stared at it for a long while, then reached for a blank sheet. Slowly, he began drawing anew, not the territory, but a series of overlapping circles, lines converging on the borderlands.
The following day, Alekius found Ofeus waiting in the chamber that once held the viewing wells. But the space felt altered. Heavier. Quieter. As if even the air held its breath. The usual polished basin of dark stone was gone. In its place, a shimmering cluster of water droplets hung suspended above a wide table. They turned slowly, almost imperceptibly, stirred by no visible force. Morning light slanted through the latticework windows, catching in each droplet. They glowed faintly, pulsing, alive. Alekius paused at the threshold, momentarily struck by the beauty of it.
"You already knew I was coming?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"You forget," Ofeus said without turning, voice low and resonant. "The walls are always listening. And some of us still remember how to hear them."
Alekius stepped closer. "Ofeus, why do you help the Zuli? Survival? History says the Ninji advised all the great kings, Zuli and otherwise."
"Perhaps out of curiosity," Ofeus mused, counting the vials on his shelf. "Or perhaps to see through the prophecies that have come forward. This one is the oldest. Yet to be fulfilled."
"Then why are the Baros hunting down the springs?" Alekius asked. "Why take all they can?"
"Of all the peoples in Suffering, the Baros need them most," Ofeus said, raising a finger. "They take out of fear. They are a cursed people, physically. Have you heard of the Godfire shard?"
Alekius shook his head. "What is it?"
"The very reason we all exist," Ofeus replied. "I've never seen it, but the red shards around the Baros' necks? Pieces of it. Those shards keep their curse at bay."
"So when they break them…" Alekius said, eyes narrowing.
"They're inviting death," Ofeus finished. "The Warming Death. Our Ninji springs can restore them, briefly. But without a shard to bind them again, they die."
Before Alekius could speak again, Ofeus raised a hand. The droplets shifted, forming a loose helix that spiraled downward, then descended to the table,an ancient slab carved from the Forest of Tears, its bark-green hue unmistakable. The carvings across its surface depicted the land of Suffering. To the north: Xosnijan, homeland of the Ninji. Northwest: Volflary. Northeast: Fulgur. West: the mountains, and Baros territory. East: the Pagon coast. South: Acrye, the forbidden lands. No one ventured there without an army. The rumors of insect manipulation made sure of that.
Ofeus' voice broke his trance. "This is no clean reflection. It's like peering through a cracked mirror in a thunderstorm. But distortions can reveal truths that clarity hides."
Alekius stepped closer. The droplets hovered above the map, shifting again, forming tiny figures. Silhouettes, flickering like candlelight. Alekius could only distinguish them by their position across the etched terrain.
"What are we looking for?" he asked.
"Not what," Ofeus said softly, "but who. There is something, someone, beyond the Baros line. A presence the old wells will not name. The water remembers the blood, but not the face."
Alekius turned, unsettled. "The blood?"
"There are echoes moving through the land," Ofeus said. "And one of them carries a song I have not heard since the breaking of the Veil."
He stepped back, allowing Alekius a full view of the table. "Open yourself. Let the water show what it will. But beware. Truths revealed through mist often change the one who sees them."
Looking at the figures on the table, Alekius noticed that a few of the droplet shapes turned pale white. As other droplets from the Zuli side surged forward to meet them, the white ones suddenly burst, vaporizing themselves and the attackers around them.
"Warming Death," Alekius thought.
Then, one droplet from the Zuli side clashed with a lone Baros figure. It struck the Baros droplet again and again, forcing it back across the carved terrain. But then, the Baros figure began to glow. First pale white like the others, but then a deep blue threaded with black. The glow pulsed, steady and unnatural. The droplet then began to destroy the other Zuli sided droplets. At godlike speed, nothing was taking it down. Then it stopped, but the droplet began to cast out black around it. The "shadow" of the droplet was massive compared to the rest of the droplets. Then bright red larger droplets started forming where the elders had been. "Infernals" Ofeus said.
Alekius noticed droplets from the Zuli side retreating, and one trying to stay behind, but eventually running away as well. "Kael retreating after seeing what he detailed to us." Alekius confirmed.
Ofeus didn't answer at first. His expression remained still, unreadable.
"I must return to my camp to gather more information," he said finally. "But this is a confluence. The boy is not the fire's source, he is its channel. And something older answers him. Something bound. He wields and commands these flames as the Zuli do with lightning. Which is abnormal for the Ogun Curse. It is as if the boy bypasses it completely."
Alekius tensed. "You know what it is, don't you?"
Ofeus hesitated. His voice dropped. "I believe I do. But I'm not ready to share that with you… or your father. Not yet. Your father won't take that information lightly. His pride still clouds his mind."
Alekius left the chamber of the viewing wells, Ofeus' words still reverberating. His father's pride was a mountain not easily moved. But the retreat, Kael's fear, and the vision of the fire had shaken him. Perhaps Zubotu would consider the Ninji's warning. But Alekius couldn't wait for perhaps.
The images captured in the droplets, fragmented though they were, burned in his mind, the young Baros wielding fire with a shadow, the terror in the Zuli soldier's retreat, and that looming shape that did not belong in this world. Ofeus's warnings had been cautious, veiled in old wisdom. But they had ignited something fierce in Alekius, a need not just to know, but to understand.
He needed someone who could see beyond the Zuli's rigid tradition and inherited fear. Someone unafraid to face the truths hidden in shadow. He needed to speak with Laric.
He found his half-brother in one of the palace's private training yards. Laric moved through his forms with twin wooden staves, each carved with intricate symbols. His motion was fluid, precise, a blend of traditional Zuli combat patterns and something more elusive. The air shimmered faintly around him, reacting not just to exertion, but to a deeper resonance within him.
"Laric," Alekius said, voice subdued.
Laric completed his motion and turned, staves resting at his sides. His expression bore the usual mix of wary detachment and faint amusement. "Alekius. What brings the golden son here? Lost your edge again and need another wooden beating to remind you?"
Alekius didn't smile. "I need to ask you about the Baros."
A flicker of recognition crossed Laric's face. "I heard Kael disobeyed father. Why your sudden interest?"
Alekius stepped closer, voice low. "Kael was trying to cover for his uncle Zaron, but Zaron told the truth that he led the unplanned attack. Yet, they ran into a Baros boy who could control his fire like we wield lightning. It was an unnatural blue-black flame. Kael mentioned something that trailed behind the boy, in his shadow."
Laric's easy stance tensed, just slightly. "Kael doesn't rattle easily. Especially, when he was ready to enact his revenge."
"I know," Alekius said. "He's Tharos' son. Born warrior. He knows power when he sees it. And this… whatever this was, it made him retreat."
"He spoke of terror, Laric. Pure terror. And Ofeus… he implied the Baros possess abilities we don't understand. He mentioned something called the Warming Death, a suicidal act of power."
Laric's eyes widened slightly. "The Warming Death… it's an ancient tale of their god, Ogun. Ogun's Curse as it can be referred to. Ninji elders mention it as an ancient curse due to a Baros, long ago stealing godlike power. Now instead of fire wielders they are fire pires. Waiting to burn out.
Some of those old Umbra scrolls mention them using it as a desperate measure, a final sacrifice to gain the upper hand in battle. A sacrifice for sure."
"So, the fact that one has learned to surpass the power, or even control it. Makes them even more dangerous?" Alekius asked, a nagging doubt still lingering from his father's dismissive words.
Laric hesitated. "In a way, yes. But their connection to fire is different from ours to lightning. It's tied to a curse. Or so they believe anyway. They have some way of keeping themselves from dying, maybe that is what they use the water for. Our lightning is drawn from a storm, or if you are an elite, you bring the storm to you. Our blood is linked to lightning, a natural catalyst. Their fire… it seems drawn from within. The Lightning Shards is the limiter. Keeping a warrior from burning out."
"And this blue-black flame Kael described?" Alekius pressed. "Have you heard of anything like it?"
Laric shook his head slowly. "No. The legends speak of orange and red flames, the color of hearth fires and the sun. Bright white fire is what appears when the Warming Death is activated, then ending in death. Blue and black… that is something new, something… unsettling."
He looked at Alekius, a rare moment of shared concern in his eyes. "Be careful, Alekius. If the Baros possess powers we don't comprehend, and if they are willing to sacrifice themselves in such a way… then perhaps Father's arrogance has blinded us to a true danger."
Alekius nodded, the weight of Laric's words settling heavily upon him. The Baros were not the simple savages the Zuli believed them to be. They were something ancient, something resilient, and something potentially far more dangerous. And the key to understanding them might lie not within the Zuli war rooms, but in the forgotten legends and the cautious wisdom of the Ninji.
Laric's words resonated with Alekius' own growing unease. His father, blinded by generations of Zuli superiority, was stumbling into a conflict he didn't understand. Waiting for Zubotu to swallow his pride and seek counsel from Ofeus felt like a dangerous gamble. Alekius knew he had to act, to seek knowledge beyond the confines of the Zuli palace.
"Laric," Alekius said, a newfound resolve hardening his voice. "I cannot wait for Father to see the reason. I need to understand this… this new threat. I need to understand the Baros, the Pagonians, everything we have dismissed for so long."
Laric regarded him with a thoughtful expression. "And how do you intend to do that, Alekius? Sneak into the outlands with Ofeus? Father would have your head."
"No," Alekius replied, an idea forming in his mind. "Father ordered Arken to lead a scouting party to observe the Baros camps and support the Ninji. I will go with them."
Laric's eyes widened in surprise. "You? On a scouting mission? You've never ventured beyond the palace walls for anything other than ceremonial duties."
"Then it is time I did," Alekius stated firmly. "Arken's mission is to observe, to remain unseen. It will give me an opportunity to see their camps firsthand, to perhaps glean some understanding of their ways. And," he added, a hopeful note in his voice, "perhaps I can even learn more about the Ninji perspective directly from their villages."
Laric remained silent for a moment, considering. "It's a dangerous undertaking, Alekius. If the Baros discover you…"
"Arken is skilled. He will keep us hidden," Alekius interrupted, a confidence he didn't entirely feel lacing his tone. "And I need to do this, Laric. For the Zuli, perhaps even for Father. We cannot fight an enemy we do not understand."
He clapped his half-brother on the shoulder. "Tell no one of my intentions, not even Father, until I have left. By then, it will be too late to stop me."
Without waiting for Laric's further protest, Alekius turned and strode towards the palace stables. He would find Arken, offer his assistance (however unwelcome it might be), and use this scouting mission as a guise to seek the knowledge that the Zuli so desperately needed. He had dismissed the Ninji and the other peoples of Suffering for too long, content in the Zuli's perceived dominance. Now, the blue-black flames and the shadowy figure had shattered that illusion, and Alekius knew he had to seek the truth, even if it meant venturing into the unknown and challenging everything he had ever believed. The journey to understanding had begun, and it would lead him far from the gilded cages of the Zuli palace.
Alekius made his way to the stables, careful to keep to the shadows, moving swiftly through the cold, night air. The last thing he wanted was to alert anyone to his presence, especially his father. He needed to leave without a fuss, without questions. The vision from the viewing well still haunted him, and the last thing he wanted was to explain himself to Zubotu, especially with everything else going on.
Just as he reached the stable doors, a voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Leaving without telling me?" Zubotu's voice was calm but had that familiar edge of authority. "You have forgotten. I am the King, but more so, I know my son."
Alekius froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned slowly, his gaze meeting his father's eyes. There was a slight chuckle in Zubotu's tone, but it was the knowing look in his eyes that made Alekius' stomach tighten. "I knew as soon as I talked to Ofeus, you would be joining the scouting party," Zubotu continued, his expression unreadable.
Alekius let out a deep sigh of frustration, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "How did you find out?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and admiration.
Zubotu's lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "As soon as Ofeus said he couldn't talk to me about the viewing well," he said with quiet certainty. "I knew he told you the same thing." He paused, studying his son closely before adding, "What of Kael's report? Do you think it is true after seeing it?"
Alekius's eyes flickered briefly, and he glanced down, struggling to find the right words. The droplets were still fresh in his mind, its weight pressing on his chest like a stone. "I don't know what to think," Alekius replied, his voice low and tense. "Kael's report... It's just as disturbing as the droplets, unknown power just emitting from a Baros. But seeing it for myself... it felt different. There's something there. Something darker than we've ever encountered."
Zubotu's gaze remained steady, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer to Alekius, his voice now a bit softer, though still firm. "You're not a child anymore, Alekius. You've felt it, haven't you? The pull of this power. This shadow... whatever it is. You're more connected to it than we both realize."
Alekius looked up at his father, his heart beating faster. The words rang in his ears, and for a moment, the weight of the situation seemed to bear down on him fully. "I know, Father. But I don't understand it. I don't know what it means or what it's going to cost. I can't keep ignoring it, though. Not after what I've seen."
Zubotu's gaze softened just slightly, though his tone remained steady. "You don't have to understand it all at once. But you're not alone in this, Alekius. Whatever path you choose, I am here. You are the first full blooded Zuli. The power you feel, it's part of the bloodline. And it won't let go easily. But remember this: You're still my son. And I will guide you, even when it's hard to see the way."
Alekius met his father's eyes, feeling the weight of Zubotu's words sink in. He had known his father's strength, but hearing this, there was something more. Something unspoken, yet undeniable. "Thank you, Father," Alekius whispered, the words escaping him before he could stop them.
Zubotu nodded once, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Go. Join the party. But be careful, Alekius. There's more at play here than just the Baros. Much more."
With that, Alekius turned and walked into the stables, his heart heavy but resolved. Dawn had finally come and the road ahead was uncertain, but with his father's words in mind, he felt a little more prepared to face whatever awaited him.
Later in the evening, Laric moved in silence through the lesser halls of the Zuli palace, where few ventured and fewer questioned. He passed beneath banners and murals that glorified conquest, ignoring them as one might ignore a lie too often repeated. When he reached the throne room's edge, he paused by a crumbling relief, Zuli warriors carved over older symbols, barely visible now beneath the goldleaf. With three fingers pressed to a jagged stone in the corner, the wall gave way with a quiet groan. He slipped through before the seam closed, sealing him in complete darkness. No guards. No torches. No one knew this place. He pressed a hand to the wall, whispering words in a language no one in the palace would recognize. The stone warmed beneath his touch. From it, a sliver of violet energy curled outward into his palm, a coiled tree branch emitting soft light. He descended. The stairwell spiraled deep beneath the throne room, ending in a cold chamber that smelled of old parchment and forgotten gods. Scrolls littered the floor and broken shelves. The air was thick with dust and secrets. Laric crossed to the center and knelt before a cracked stone table where one scroll remained half-unrolled. Its ink had faded almost to nothing. Still, he traced the symbols by memory, he'd read them enough to no longer need his eyes. Pagonian glyphs. Sacred. He touched a passage near the edge, a ritual diagram curling into the symbol for blood. It was a scroll spelling out a Royal Pagonian Bloodline, his mother's bloodline. The part of him the palace never spoke of, never acknowledged. The part he now understood could root and bind and grow. Behind him, quiet footsteps approached. Laric didn't look.
"You're early," he said, rolling the scroll gently.
From the shadows, Tharion emerged, gaunt, obvious signs of his enslavement, shackle scars on his wrist and ankles. His tunic hung in ribbons, but his spine remained straight. Even in silence, he carried presence. "They moved my group east," Tharion said simply. "I slipped away."
Laric stood and held out the scroll. "You were right. These texts... they aren't just about farming or prayer. They teach how to bind yourself to what's buried deep. I never knew what my blood could do until you showed me."
Tharion took the scroll with reverence. "You asked the right questions. Most would've feared the answers." Laric looked down at his open hand, where a faint green thread, living vine, curled up from his palm and withered slowly back into skin.
"I can feel it now," he said. "The roots. The pull of stone and seed. I've cast trees with breath alone. That connection... it came from your teachings. From these scrolls."
Tharion nodded. "They were once ours to protect. Before conquest. My family were lore-keepers of the First Grove. The last stewards of these rites. They kept me alive to read what they feared."
Laric's voice tightened. "So they burned the tree, but kept the root."
"They thought it was enough," Tharion said. "It wasn't."
Laric stepped closer. "You showed me who my mother was. What she passed to me. And how this empire buries things that still breathe."
A long pause. Then Laric lowered his voice. "I want you to begin teaching the others."
Tharion's eyes narrowed. "The others?"
"The Pagonian slaves. Quietly. One at a time, if you must," Laric said. "Begin with those who witnessed the boy from days ago. What was his name?" Laric paused, closing his eyes for only a moment. "Ah, Field. You knew him well?"
"Yes, he was my grandson. He was a holder of the scrolls, before I gave the remaining to you. They all believed he was the one who casted the vines killing the guard. But it was you, Prince, Laric?" Tharion asked, wary.
"Yes, I tried to save him, but I assume the power he used to create the statue was what caused his tree bark to grow. Overcoming an inexperienced user, such fragile power. Nevertheless, I need rebels trained and ready. I will try to approach Kael, he is already furious with my father, why not have that power on our side?"
"You intend to have them fight?" Tharion asked, looking visibly uncomfortable.
"I would have them weaken Zuli control," Laric said coolly. "By the time my father realizes, it'll be too late to stop the rot. But wait, until he leaves the palace."
Tharion tilted his head. "You expect him to?"
"I do. He'll chase after Alekius soon enough, if not we will make him." A faint smirk pulled at Laric's mouth. "His favorite son is always more fun to protect than the one he left in the dark. A regret he will never forget."
Tharion said nothing for a long moment.
Then, quietly: "When he goes, we'll be ready."
"You still wear the mark," Laric added, gesturing to the faded Pagonian brand above Tharion's heart. Vines threaded in a triangle within a triangle like symbol. Attowa's mark.
"They tried to burn it off," Tharion said. "Didn't work."
Laric nodded. "Good. When you rise, they'll need to see it again."
"And when we rise," Tharion replied, "We will remember who gave us the reason."
He turned and vanished back into the shadows of the Crypt.
Laric returned to the scrolls, not as a student, but as heir to something older. His hands were steady.
Tharion does not know who he follows. The blind rage he feels will guide him quicker to me. Field was a much needed sacrifice to plant the seed of fear. I will creep from the shadows until they are ready, ready to meet who I am.
Above, the court thought him quiet. Thought him harmless. Let them. Here, beneath their throne, the truth was blooming. And it bore his name.