The HaRT Knight Decaverse

Fall of Tír na Angelus

Chapter 01

Queen of Tír na Angelus

Milara’s footsteps echoed through the catacombs, competing with the sound of a hammer repeatedly striking a chisel. Despite the lack of light, she had no need for a torch or candle. The people of Tír na Angelus were well known as the race with the most magically powerful blood in all the world, and Milara, as their Queen, was the most powerful of all. With the majority of her magic focused on increasing her sight, her pale blue eyes glowed, allowing her to see the dark halls as if they were illuminated by the sun.
The only light in all of the catacombs came from the myriad of braziers and candles in the royal crypt where the sculptor she had brought all the way from Mag Findargate—and thus not of the blood of Angelus—worked.
The sculptor was so engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice Milara enter the room. Five new statues filled the crypt, each a masterpiece that was the result of unparalleled skill and meticulous work. Even the Angelian people who could manipulate and shape stones with magic, could not compete with this man’s crude hammer and chisel.
“By the gods, Tomen, they look great,” Milara said.
The sculptor was so startled to find himself not alone, he fell off his ladder. Milara acted instinctively, and with a perfunctory wave of her hand, summoned a gale of wind. The magic wind rushed through the halls of the catacombs and exploded into the crypt, extinguishing the braziers and candles before it caught Tomen and lifted him back onto the ladder.
“Oh, thank you, Your Grace,” Tomen said, breathing hard.
Milara snapped her fingers, and instantly, all the braziers and torches were reignited. “So sorry for startling you, Tomen.”
The sculptor’s eyes were wide as they flitted from one fire to another. “No need, Your Grace. It was my fault.” He quickly slipped off the ladder and bowed to Milara. “I do hope the resemblances are accurate.”
“Accurate does not begin to describe them,” Milara said. It was, in fact, like the people the statues were based on were actually in the room with them. Well, technically, mother’s body is really here, she thought. The other four graves beneath the statues were empty.
On either side of her mother’s statue stood the identical handsome figures of her twin brothers, Marcus and William. The two of them had always been the desire of every girl in Tír na Angelus, with their strong jaws, perfect cheekbones, and gorgeous hair. Despite their identical appearances, their personalities could not have been more different. Marcus had been arrogant, but had hidden it well with his charming smile and personality. William, on the other hand, had been more stoic, bookish, and shy—and yet both of them nearly destroyed our kingdom, Milara thought bitterly. The madness of her eldest two brothers had cost her family dearly. It had destroyed her father, led to the banishment of Cain—her only remaining sibling—and was also the reason for the fourth statue in the crypt. That of her husband and the father of her son. Leander had been the love of her life, and it still pained her that he had never met his son, Alexander. He had died in the line of duty, defeating Marcus who had already wiped out three civilizations by that point.
The last of the five statues was the spitting image of Milara’s father, King Able. Like the other male graves, his was empty, not because there was no body to bury, but because he was still alive—not for much longer, however, Milara thought. The corruption of a dark curse had been slowly seeping the life from the old king over the last two-and-a-half years, and according to the physicians, he would not live to see another season. Once he died, the only family Milara will have left, will be her son—and her brother Cain, but no one knew where he was these days. Wherever he is, I hope he’s found peace and happiness at least. He sure as death wasn’t ever able to find it here in this city.
“They’re perfect, Tomen. You truly are the most gifted sculptor in all the world,” Milara said.
“I am pleased that you like them, Your Grace,” the sculptor said, bowing his head.
“I like them so much, in fact, I think I would like to commission another statue from you. But, one a little cheerier and more—” Milara cut off as all her attention snapped into focus on the sudden flash of magic energy that emanated from somewhere near the center of the city. It had happened so fast and been so fleeting Milara wasn’t even sure why her instincts had caused her to focus on it. Seeing as ninety-eight percent of the population of Tír na Angelus could use magic, the city was always alive with spells and flares of power, she was so used to this that she barely registered it when someone used magic, but that aura had been different. It had been like a lightning bolt in a field of fireflies—and it had been near Alexander.
Concerned for her son, Milara said, “I’m sorry, Tomen, we’ll talk again later. I’m afraid something just came up that I can’t postpone.”
Without another word or waiting for the sculptor’s reply, she raced out of the room and down the tunnels of the catacombs, back into the city.
As concerned as Milara was, she did not use magic to sprint to the royal quarters. As queen, it was her duty not to worry her subjects unnecessarily, and there was a real chance that it was only her overprotective maternal instincts driving her. That massive magical aura had only lasted a second and had not returned since, and unless it did, she would act as if nothing bothered her as she made her way down the golden streets, greeting her people with a warm smile and a nod. The sun had already set, and yet, Tír na Angelus seemed to glow brightly. The silver light of the full moon bounced off the pristine white marble of the elegant buildings—and in several cases, the people themselves. Tír na Angelus’s people, like the buildings, were beautiful and elegant and looked like statues of marble, ebony, or gold come alive.
“So sorry,” Milara said when a man wearing a dark cloak bumped into her.
“It was my fault, Your Grace. I wasn’t looking where I was going. So sorry,” the man said before he vanished down the street.
Milara had never even seen his face, but she suspected she knew him from somewhere; he seemed familiar to her. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was in a hurry to get home, she might have followed the man to ask him where she knew him from, but the only thing that occupied her mind at that moment was her son and the ever-increasing feeling of foreboding. Something doesn’t feel right about this night. It’s as if my instincts are warning me that something bad is about to happen.
#
Eventually, Milara made her way to the Royal Quarters, a large square building encircled with a forest of golden pillars. She made her way up to the third floor and into her son’s room where her ancient adviser, the septim wizard Dante sat beside the young prince’s bed, looking at him with fondness and love.
“He’s asleep already? Usually this time of night he’s still bouncing off the walls,” Milara said, trying to sound casual.
“The lad has had an exhausting day,” Dante said, a fond smile on his face. His eyes of solid brown that looked like oak glittered as he took in Alexander’s sweet sleeping face. “Did you feel it? The immensity of his aura?”
“What?” Milara said in astonishment. She looked at her son; it was as if she saw him for the first time. “That massive flash of magic energy, that was Alex?”
“It was,” Dante said. “He managed his first feet of pyroturgy today.”
“Fire magic, at his age?” Milara smiled as she brushed a dark brown lock of hair out of her son’s face. “Has anyone ever managed elemental magic with such power at his age before?”
“Only Marcus. He managed on the day he turned five, beating Alexander by a whole three months.” Dante looked up at the queen and their eyes met for a second as they shared their mutual concern. “But Marcus’s magic aura was nothing compared to what Alexander produce tonight. My Queen, your son will without a doubt be the most powerful Angelian since Angelus Primus himself.”
Milara bit her lip. If history was any indication, such power will come with great strife, she thought. Not to mention a threat of instability. It was Marcus’s immense power that had driven him mad.
As if the old wizard could read her mind, he said, “I don’t believe you have too much to worry about. He may have a power greater than Marcus, but he has your heart, Milara.”
“I hope your right,” Milara said. The heart of every man in my family has fallen to darkness. Marcus slaughtered thousands, William sought to kill our father, my father abused and manipulated Cain to kill our brother, which led to even him falling to darkness and trying to destroy Tír na Angelus. I cannot bear to think about what I would do if Alexander turned out like them.
Milara kissed her son on the forehead and whispered. “I will always protect you, even from yourself if I have to. But I will never let anything bad happen to you. I swear it on—”
Milara cut off as the entire city shook. The young prince’s room was bathed in blinding light as a pillar of magic energy shot into the sky from somewhere in the north of Tír na Angelus. The column of energy screeched and wailed as something pulled it down, devouring it like a drain swallowing a bathtub’s water. In a matter of seconds, the immense power vanished.
“Was that what I think it was? The power of one Angelian being passed to another?” Milara asked her adviser.
Dante’s eyes were stretched wide in horror. It took him a second or two before he managed to say, “I believe so.” The wizard swallowed. “But not just any merger of power. Magic power of that scale is not common, not even here. Milara, I fear that was your father.”
“I need to go to him right away?” Milara said.
“By the Shepherd King, look,” Dante said, pointing out the window. In the distance, above the northern corner of the city, the shadow of a man with six wings blocked a portion of the moon. The winged figure exploded into motion with a sound like a thunderclap as he flew straight for the royal quarters.
Milara looked at her son in concern. The boy had slept through the commotion. “Protect my son, Dante!” She said and sprinted out the room to meet the challenger. She took the stairs three at a time, and when she reached the bottom, didn’t even bother to open the doors. Instead, she magically blasted them off their hinges and into the courtyard beyond where the winged man was already waiting for her.
He had broad shoulders and bulky arms covered in scars. His head was shaven, and his pale blue eyes glowed as they fell on Milara.
A grin creased his face as he said, “Hello, sister.”
“Cain?” Milara said in astonishment. Since the last times she had seen her brother, he had gained an ugly scar that ran from the back of his head, across the hole that had been his right ear, over his eye, and stopped on the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious. I'm here to kill you,” he said in a hiss.