‘From the sky the heir of the lost throne will come
With flames and rage
For revenge, freedom and his place.
In the ashes of his enemies would he bath
And there will be none more powerful, none more great.”
Those lines had been said to people over and over again, and they had believed.
They chanted it to themselves like a mantra.
The heir of the lost throne would come…
He would fight for them, take for them their freedoms with blood and violence. He would make all their sacrifices worth it in the end.
He was their hope.
Once upon a time they stood by the Lost Throne because of their utmost loyalty and allegiance to those who had ruled on it before it was lost, but after a while and a lot of suffering that was melted on them by the White King and his followers, even their strong allegiance and loyalty died, all that was left was now was hope.
But hope was a funny thing; as powerful as it was weak.
As the people from the House of Zoter fought, there seemed to be no hope from the sky above them from where the prophecy had said the savior should come.
Their cries of defeat filled the air and the soldiers of the White King brought them to their knees, face down into earth, their blood turning the soil crimson.
Death was everywhere, not hope.
Nothing was in the sky but emptiness, even the moon and its twinkling friends had deserted them.
“Cry unto your Heir!” A soldier mocked.
“Your Savior that our King has killed!” Another mocked as he slashed their throats.
“Tell the dead to save you!” They laughed.
The people cried to their Priest instead. The guards brought the Priest forward, and pressed a sword against his throat.
“Cry to the sky!” He mocked and the others joined in laughing.
“The Heir of the Lost Throne, please save us.”
Their laughter grew.
“Do with them what you will. Then kill them all before dawn!” The leader of the army said and turned away. “I will take you as entertainment for the True King.” He pulled the priest along with him.
The priest kept on mumbling the prophecy as the soldiers pulled aside some women, their screams filling the air, their fight weak against them.
Suddenly, they could all hear something strange. The sound of massive wings flapping in the air, slow and powerful. The light that reflected on them was unnatural. They looked up at the sky, at the image that commanded their attention.
His hair was a mix of flames and his dark eyes thirsted for revenge, in his outstretched hands were balls of flames…
“The Heir of the Lost Throne,” The Priest whispered and the leader of the army tossed him to the ground in rage.
“Attack!”
Arrows flew into the sky in multitude but fire rained on them, turning their attacks to ashes and the guards into nothing but crisp bones.
The soldiers looked back stunned. Only the families of the Heads of the Houses could command flames and transform into the Beasts that ruled the sky.
“Retreat! RETRE—” he went up in flames and with that their savior took down each of their enemies until there was none left.
Finally, he descended before them.
The Priest was the first to yell, then a woman, then more.
“The Heir of The Lost Throne! Saviour! Saviour!” They called him as the ones that lived rose to their feet, hailing him.
It was only at that moment that they realized that they realized that he held a female to his side. Where had she come from?
“I am late,” he whispered as he looked at the dead that littered the ground with rage and guilt.
The Priest rushed to him.
“My Lord,” he fell on his feet before him. “Give me your commands.”
The Heir pulled him up and turned to the survivors.
“My name is Alaris. I am the Heir that was promised. Your suffering ends here!” Then he turned to the Priest. “Take me to the rest.”
“Yes, My Lord.” The Priest bowed. Then he turned to the people and yelled. “The Heir is here!”
They chanted back.
“Saviour! Saviour! Saviour!”
They had called upon the sky and he had answered.
Their savior was here.
It was time for war.
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((Please check out “Stealing The Alphas' Soul”. Thank you.))