Chapter 1:

Predestination

“My father once told me, the legacy tied to our blood will one day, inevitably, become a responsibility
we have to bear.”

With heavy shoulders pressing his arms against the parapet, Fyran fiddle around his red-tinted pendant,
shaped like a phoenix with wings spread in such a way it is majestic looking and each side were carved
two words when combined becomes “Te Absente, Hereditas Manet”.

Fyran sighed.

Underneath his red hair, there is whiteness, a symbolic trait of his family. Born a nobleman, dressed in
ash black attire with a cloak, now in his twenty, he is approached by a decision that could shake the
land.

Pondering against the parapet like Fyran does, a long haired woman in cloak, Cyrenne stares into the
horizon, staring at the clock tower of Selvaris surrounded by buildings that leave almost no gap, chaining
the fate of this city. The reddish coloured buildings provoked an intrusive thought in her mind.
Just imagine the destruction a single spark of fire could bring onto this.

She stretched against the wall and faces Fyran.

“Unchecked ambition creates destruction.”
“Your involvement alone could invite many challenges, but it doesn’t prevent the inevitable loss,
sometimes it could create an opportunity for the worst to happen.”
Cyrenne knew, she knew what Fyran needed the most right now is not answer but a confirmation for
the decision he had in mind. She slides her fingers across his arm and firmly grips it.

“Casting aside that legacy doesn’t strip you of everything, we could always build a new one.”
“We?”, Fyran glances at Cyrenne who cheekily grinning at her.
“You are the only place left for me to stay.”
Hearing that kicked off the weight on his cheeks, lifting his lips to a smile and a chuckle.
“Milady, are you flirting with me?”
To which Cyrenne answered with a punch to his shoulder while not trying to hide the gleeful blush red
like tomato on her face.
“Look who is being cheeky right now.”
Hahaha. Seeing him in a merry spirit, an old man in grey robe from behind couldn’t help but let off a
laughter while stroking his long wise beard befitting his status.

Turning around, they saw Chancellor Osfred just came out from the door behind him. His eyes are meek
and the wrinkles on his face counts ages.
“His Majesty awaits you, Fyran. Are you ready with an answer?”
Mhm. Fyran nodded.
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
Clack.
The door opened and Fyran took a step with half body in to take a peek on the inside. It is full of
bookshelves leaving only space for couches and table, a table full of papers and a man who finds his quill
unable to stop moving. He is King Alderic Irisheart of Iridisia and he is young, as young as Fyran, yet
doesn’t seem to be troubled with the amount of work on his table.

“Have a seat.” He raised his head and point at a couch with his quill.
“Your Majesty,” Fyran walked to the pointed couch and slightly bowed before sitting down.
Smells like lavender. The refreshing smell in the room made Fyran feels a slight lighter.
The king placed his quill in the stand, and the written paper on the right stack then walked to sit on the
opposite couch. There is an empty cup on the table, it was the chancellor’s, and the others were stacked
upside down. The king took and places a cup for Fyran, then reaches for the tea pot, raising it with the
other hand holding the head and poured for him. He then does the same for his.

“Thank you,” Fyran nodded and took a silent sip on the tea. It is warm.
“From your getup, I suppose the answer is no.”
The king knew from the way Fyran dressed, had he decided to go along with whatever the king had in
mind, he would’ve dressed formally, not in cloak, not in the manner of someone preparing to depart for
a journey.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You’ve offered me a haven and bestowed me immersive hospitality ever since I was exiled. I thank you
for everything you had offered, Your Majesty.” He bowed with his hand on heart, expressing the
deepest gratitude towards the king.
“And my apology for rejecting the request despite the kindness you had bestowed upon me.”
The king chuckled.
“It is I who should apologize for requesting you to assist our expedition to conquer your homeland,
Fyran.”
“Do you not find it spiteful I declared something outrageous before you?”
It was replied with a smile. “Few years ago, The Sanexs suffered from famine and exploitation of their
king and the Senectia’s nobles. You took the opportunity and successfully crushed their military force,
taking over their territories. Surprisingly, the people welcomed your arrival.”
The Sanexs are people of Senectia region, they believe harmony exists through opening up to those
foreign to them, and in return, a mutual understanding can be achieved.

“To reach Iridisia, I had to travel across the Senectia region and I was impressed, Your Majesty.”
The king slightly leans forward, “Do tell me, Fyran.”
“Whenever I enter a city or a town, I noticed there is always an administration focused on providing free
meals, clothing and shelter for the homeless in exchange for their labor in rebuilding and cleaning the
place. The children of the poor would be offered free education, farmers would be offered more lands
and encouraged a rotation system to effectively make use of the lands while ensuring a healthy yield.
You also enforced a no tax law which lasted for a year, aiming to swiftly rebuild the regions.” said Fyran
as he recalls the memories of days spent in Senectia where he would walk down the street without
worrying about safety. He would finds the Iridisian soldiers dressed in their purple coating military
uniform helping the locals and their builders in repairing the damaged buildings while the women
cooking with large pots. In some small buildings, the children would be seen engaged in talk over topics
taught in the class. The roads would always find it busy with carriages moving in and out of the city with
merchants taking the opportunity of no tax policy to earn some profit.
“Your Majesty does not rule with an iron fist, but a benevolent heart. In that, I have faith that you would
treat the Lucanoran the same way.”
Lucanoran is the ethnicity residing in the Solaris Empire. They were said to be the chosen and closest to
the Goddess with multiple written source solidifying the myth as fact. Fyran Endersong, by blood is a
Lucanoran.
“I’m flattered, but is glad to hear of your opinion regarding my ruling over the region.”
“As you are aware, I intend to unify Libenia, this continent as one to implement my ideology for
whichever place exists, and there must be no suffering but prosperity. Iridisia is rich, not in the wealth,
but the knowledge we hold and gathered across the ocean advancing our field of medicine, philosophy,
laws, agricultural, military and arts. Our bureaucracy holds the kingdom together, every aspect is a pillar
supporting our legacy. Everyone had access to education they deserve, breeding ambition and desire for
knowledge. That desire, the thirst that could not be quenched, but that’s what I wished for. Only then,
will the people keep pushing our civilization forward to the enlightened glory we seek.”
“Iridisia has it and I want it for others to have a share of it.”, he said. The excitement can be seen with
his gestures and on his face like an innocent child with a dream he could realize.
Fyran seeing this side of the king for the first time, he was taken aback. It painted his impression of the
king in a new sight, it is bright like the heaven’s gate opened. Is it the light or perhaps the glimmering
majestic joy of the man? For a moment, Fyran saw the future of Libenia in this man.

Fyran.
“Hmm?”, Fyran steered his head to the left. There, someone called him, but there’s no one? It’s just a
window, behind the king’s desk and outside the window, the first thing came into the view is a gothic
cathedral.
Fyran.
Again, it called. It is a woman’s voice, it is gentle, concerning yet nostalgic. He couldn’t help but felt
drawn in to it, something is there, over there. Perhaps, a person.
Fyran.
“Fyran?”
…
“Fyran.”
Fyran snapped his eyes with the voice calling him from the right, his mind blanked.
“Hmm?”
“Oh.”
“Sorry, I heard a voice.”
The king, Alderic looked over at where he stared. He felt a chill just as he remembered something.
“Fyran.”
“Do you know why I provided you a haven?”
Puzzled by the question, Fyran let his mind trace back to the answer the king once gave him.
“’Your blood is worth more than gold’, was what you once told me. I am a descendant of the First
Emperor of Libenia, but there’s more than a thousand years of gap in-between. How is Your Majesty
certain I have the legitimate claim to the throne of Solaris?”
“Your pendant.” said the king as he pointed at Fyran’s chest.
Fyran took it out with the chain and shows it to the king.
“Fyronikas.” the king spelled out a name.”
“It is the name of the phoenix.”
“And is what my father named me after.” That name is almost alike to his, the Everburning Flame.
“Do you believe it existed?”
Fyran softly smiled and shake his head.
“Heh,” The king sighed a laughter. His ankles were on his legs, feeling the weight of something he had
been carrying.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I do not believe in magical entities.”
“Well, you might want to start believing.”

The king stood up and walked to his desk and sat down on his cushioned chair. On the right, there are
three drawers, he reached for the one in the middle. Inside is a flintlock pistol, a pouch, a pocket box
and a scroll box. He takes out the scroll box.

“What is that?”, asked Fyran.

“There was a crop failure in the northern border last spring, we went to find out the cause. It turned out
to be a man-made disaster and the perpetrators deliberately left a marking behind. It led us to this.” the
king waved his hand at the scroll box.
“It’s a warning from them.”
Pop. The box was covered with air pressed against the inside causing a sound when pulled apart.
The king took out the scroll, but he hesitated for a moment.
“Brace yourself, Fyran.” He took a deep breath and roll the scroll open, displaying it on the table.
Fyran was a bit lost. It’s just an ink art of a raven on the paper.
No...
Something is strange with the art. Something caught his attention, he lowered his head as he tries to pay
attention to the raven’s eyes.
It moved!
He immediately jumps back like a cat, feeling his courage left with his breath.
“What..”
Kawww! Following a taunt, the raven gained life and flew out from the scroll swirling the room in dusty
black cloud of whirlwind devouring both Fyran and the king.
Nngh! Fyran covers his eyes in arms against the sudden danger he felt crawling through his nerve.
“Brace it, Fyran. It will be over.” the voice came from somewhere close, yet was distant with the wind
catching everything in its path.
BOOM!
Thunder?
He opens his eyes and the cloud was already gone. Panicked, he looked around.
The king is next to him, but they are not in the office. There is a wall stretching to the edge of a cliff and
an ocean next to it. It seems to be a port city, but that’s not all. Beyond the city wall, Fyran could see on
the highland to the left is the remain of what seemingly was once a grand castle and to the far opposite
of it is a burnt down cathedral standing on the cliff of the city’s west.
Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine, he could feel the hairs on his hands are pulling itself out and his
breath felt cold.
“Rosegard...”
“My people are in there, come.”
While following behind the king, Fyran couldn’t stop looking around. The dirt is dry and the air is dry, the
sky is as dark as the land, corrupted, defiled, with lightning racing across beyond the cloud couldn’t be
designated a spot to strike the ground.

In the city, what was once the beauty and fragrant of glee had been discoloured like the scent
and scene now surrounding the area with gray being the only colour it could fit into the scene it
displeased Fyran.
Is this really Rosegard?
There is no guard at the city gate and no one on the street. The kingdom’s flag is tattered, tainted with
red and half burnt, laying soaked in the puddle. The king picked it up and twirls the flag to squeeze out
the water, but what was once the pride paint onto this cloth of silk could no longer be retained. The king
had been quiet for a while, his expression is solemn and his royal garment is stained. He saw some
barrels in front of a house with parts scrapped off and place it there.

The king did not even give a glance at Fyran and just keep moving. He took out a flintlock pistol hidden
inside his garment it had Fyran wondering what he is using it for, only to find out the king stopped at a
spot and pointing it towards something behind a pile of boxes front a shop with shattered window glass.
Fyran walked over and was shocked to find a bony figure. It’s a boy in ragged clothes, silently sitting
there with his mouth and eyes opened, staring at the king. Taking a closer look, Fyran noticed there
were maggots everywhere on his body, the bags of his eyes, the canal of his ears, some crawling on his
lip, out from his nose and some feasting off his tiny infested scratch wounds.
The boy closed his eyes.
BANG!
Faint smoke steamed off of the pistol and blood rivulet down his forehead. The boy rests.
The sound invited hundreds of scrawny looking in also ragged clothing out from their hiding in the dark,
staring at the duo.
However, Fyran was unaware of the situation. His eyes were on the corpse, but his mind was
somewhere else knocked by the sound into his past memory.
It was a rainy day, a line of finely dressed men with hands tied to the back lying on their pool of blood
and there is one whose eyes were locked on him even in his death, Fyran could feel the coldness within
the darkness of those eyes cursing on him.

Thump!
His head bumped against the ground as he was pushed, hitting his sense back to present. He realized he
was being pulled and grabbed from everywhere. His breathing hastened amidst the confusion with his
clothes being torn apart.
“Huh? What?”
“Ahhgg!” a searing sensation burnt onto his flesh as nails claw its way across it. He clenched his teeth to
endure the pain.
“Stop it!”
“Get off of me!”
A guy tried to catch his leg, but Fyran kicked him off in the throat and another knee stomp in the face of
another guy.
Unfortunately, there are too many of them. Kick one away and two join in. He couldn’t move and he
couldn’t do anything with the weight of many pinned him down.
There are people who locked his lower and upper left arm with the upper being hold and the lower
being pushed against the joint, tightly stretching his muscle. That’s when he realized what they were
about to do.
“No...”
“NO!”
CRACK!
“GGGAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
Pain smashed into his nerve shocking across his left and turned into long piercing scream out of his
mouth.
It was twisted and what was broken turned black with bloods spurting out of the joint.
Chomp!
“Staaaghh!”
Hunger couldn’t wait, not even a second for Fyran to catch his breath and teeth already sunk into his
arms and body with flesh being pulled.
It hurts. It hurts but there is nothing he can do. He doesn’t know how many are biting on his flesh and
how many are torturing him with their long, sharp nails. He looked over to his left, it hurts. That arm
couldn’t move anymore. He looked over to his right, his hand was being smashed with a rock. He could
only stare, but couldn’t scream anymore. He’s exhausted. His voice was quick to understand despair and
chose to give up. It is futile to resist when there is no hope.
Ah... damn it... where is Alderic.
Grgghh!
Fyran stared down. It is a kid biting and pulling his flesh and making noise like a hungry hound with red
in his eyes unaware of a man approaching from behind, grabbing him by the neck and toss him aside.
The man has a cleaver, he must be a butcher.
He walked to the side, lumping his legs and raised the cleaver with both hands.
A droplet falls on Fyran’s face, and another, and another.
Suddenly, the sky started to pour down heavy rain. Desperate to quench their thirst, the crowd
immediately raised their mouth to the sky with tongue out and hands held together to hold it.
It was good news for everyone. Good news for Fyran. He always liked the cold of rainwater on his face
and he happened to be thirsty as well.
The butcher, holding his cleaver still, looked up and then down, on Fyran. He looks tired.
At that moment, Fyran remembered, he had that exact same look as the kid on the king and why the
king looked the same as this butcher. Even when the world has fallen, there is still one who holds
compassion for the others. He now understood that when hope has left the world, death is the final act
of mercy for a person.
Fyran slightly put a bit of smile on his face and closed his eyes. It was to thank the butcher and to tell
him, that he is ready for it.
“Huff!”, the edge swung down.

“Fyran, do take heed of my advice if you want to live. That pendant of yours, do not show it to anyone.
Keep it hidden all the time, lest trouble comes your way.”
“And remember what I once told you, do not tell anyone you are Endersong.”
It felt heavy, the room, the atmosphere. It’s hard to breath. It felt like the gravity is pulling Fyran down
with what he is listening.
“There are people out there who remembered, people who know of your worth and most of them want
you dead.”
“You have chosen your path, Fyran. From now on, I wouldn’t be able to protect you, but Cyrenne will.
Stay close to her, for the sake of you both. I have told her what she needed to know. If you ever feel the
need to reach the answer you looked away from, talk to her.”