Death X Rebirth - Apotheosis

By Jaleel Guppy

The king of Ezramir has a vision of four giants fighting another colossal, and feels within himself that the battle would decide the fate of the world.

Four princes are targetted from birth, and are made to walk in the fated path that the gods have paved for them.

What will happen, when Zan, a lowly fisherman's son is given great power and tasked with killing an impossible enemy?

This story tells of the hardship Zan was made to endure at the behest of the gods.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaleel Guppy
• Release date: Apr 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393962090

Book preview

Chapter 01 – Xan Meets Pain

The wind’s brumal breath made me shiver as I yawned. Far out in the hauntingly colossal expanse of oceanic scenery, lucent beams of the lunar overseer tranquilised the mind. Should one be attentive to those thoughts, one would see the beautiful contrast of feelings nature interjected over the turbulent seas.

Yet, I could think nothing of the sort after awakening hours before dawn to set sail on a daily basis. How laborious this was; we casted nets until we had a bountiful draw. The waft of salted air became such commonplace on Father’s boat that my nose no longer acknowledged its presence. Our fingers would crinkle like prunes because our hands were always touched by the ocean. We maintained our balance and learnt to deal with the constant shift and bob of the boat.

Sometimes we were successful, and other times, not so much. But on all occasions, we left the seas with heavy breaths and knackered limbs. And that day was no exception. The lightening of the skies signalled our dismissal from the waters.

Father and I only completed the easy part. A scalding summer’s day ensued, causing my thin arms to become sunburnt. After our haul, we sailed back to the beige shores with big grins and many fish. Ah, finally, I thought, crawling back to beautiful land, but the work had only just begun. To the market we rode, our trusty ox pulling along our scaly loot for the day.

After our vending stall was set up, we dealt with hagglers all morning long. Father’s patience in the face of customers was something I’m sure even the gods would be envious of. My simple, yet dauntingly boring role was to wrap the prepped fish into paper and hand it off to the customers. Or, should we have a slow day, I’d descale them in preparation for rush hour.

The market was a generous distance from home, but it was manageable. The journey was always relaxing for the one who needn’t drive the cart. Our ox-powered carriage would return the humble fisherman and his son to their comforting abode after a couple hours.

So hungry! I leant on the short wall in faux-distress. What do you think Mother made? I asked father.

But a foreboding silence was all he afforded me. My jet-black orbs peered at him and discovered a baffled face with specks of fear and anxiety. I trailed his eyes and noticed a few horses outside our home. With a shaky arm, the slender man grabbed a rusting pitchfork from the carriage.

An unnerving chill iced the back of my throat. Fath–

Mother’s scream grabbed my attention and halted my question.

He wiped the trapped sweat in his furrows to the side, ordered me to remain in the carriage, then bumbled to the cottage. It wasn’t long after that his trembling cry filled the air.

Father? I kept my head low. My small hands gripped harder onto the weathered cart with every passing second. I grew worried, so I kept peeping towards my home.

A soldier threw Father’s bloody and lifeless corpse into the trampled flower garden that Mother worked hard to grow.

I froze, unable to move, but fully capable of thinking about running away. At that moment, my mind was emptying every single thread of thought in preparation to deal with the oncoming trauma. It felt like my heart stopped beating and my blood stopped flowing. My mind was already closing itself off; it inflicted self-petrification and my body mimicked it. My skin grew numb to the touch and my hairs stood at attention.

Something was moving my heart again, but definitely not the regular beat. There were fingers wrapping around it, giving it a squeeze periodically, forcing me to live a fate that was inescapable. My senses faded. Both mental and physical disconnection of this reality shoved me into a strange place I’d never seen. The more I ventured into this place, the more I felt the presence of another.

In hindsight, running away might’ve kept me from a life built on blood. How much did the gods shun me to place my fate in the call of a nonchalant seagull passing by? Its squawk snatched my mind from stupor, but not my body. I was aware again, my senses returned, yet I frozen stiff.

My father’s murderer turned around out of sheer curiosity after hearing the bird, and would notice by pure chance, a frightened ten-year-old, petrified by the mere thought of a confrontation. Me.

Let, me, go! I became animated only when my captor held me. My hapless struggle was restless.  He dragged me inside by the neck of my vest. When my eyes laid upon the scene, the cowardice that compelled me was torn away by a burst of ebullient rage. Bloodthirst melted away the strings that held me to my sanity. I was predisposed to succumb to an inevitable ire I’d never even known.

My precious sister, Zada, was held down. Her face was jammed against the frigid ground and she was forced to behold the execrable deed that laid before us. Three soldiers from the state of Cythan violated my mother and didn’t even bat an eye when I entered.

Stop! Stop it! I squirmed to release myself, but my strength paled. My voice crackled in panic and saturated with anxiousness. They tortured my mother to death in front of us whilst we were held captive after they had their way, forced to watch, forced to hate.

Mother cried, not even able to look at us while they raped her. The demons impaled her hands and feet if she resisted. She bled so much that her ferocity slowly died down, until all we could hear was her faint weeping. Our tears would dry up and drench our faces many times over.

I wasn’t even aware of when she died. If it weren’t for one of the Cythans muttering something about the fun ending, I wouldn’t have realised.

They let us go to internalise their work with grins akin to demons. My body and my mind both slumped; I lost reasoning the more I heard their sickening laughter. Like before, I blanked out. All other thoughts were discarded and I could only think one thing, Death.

The scene went into a pessimistic grey; either I became blind or the world disappeared. My senses faded into nothingness. There it was again, a presence far off into the distance drew ever closer and forced my pores to raise.

It was like a dream. Out of the swirling mists, a captivating woman appeared clothed in white silk that draped over her body. She was perfection. She embodied the temptation of the unknown. Do you want power? she asked. A question so simple nullified every drip of prudence I had remaining.

I could only nod. She disappeared like a wisp, a fleeting pigment of my imagination. There was no suspicion, no doubt, no reasoning, no presence of mind – there was no me. I was so laden with choler that my body stomped forward without my approval.

My vision became clear once again and I laid tear-engrained eyes on those men. I returned to the world of anguish, but within my hands was the key to a door no child should have cause to open. It was the answer to this overwhelming madness that journeyed through my thinning self-control, or rather, the relief.

A double-edged glaive.

I swung it, pouring every ounce of muscle and strength I could muster right above the waist of one of the Cythan scum. In any normal situation, the impossibilities of a ten-year old’s flimsy muscles generating enough force to even put a dent in a soldier’s mail was something anyone would admit to. Yet, not once did failure cross my mind. It cut clean through, severing him in two and rotating his bloody torso in the air, ruthlessly spilling his crimson life about the walls.

The absurdity of it all never occurred to me in that moment of wrathful vengeance. Without a moment to spare, I ran my newfound manifestation of rage through the side of another soldier, rendering his plate armour useless.

The petrification endowed in my third target had broken and he accepted what laid bare in front of him as reality. He broke his curse of stillness and drew his sword. He had no qualms about killing a child, and brought the blade downward at my neck. I parried with the glaive’s black body but still suffered a deep cut across my cheek to my jaw. I swung the glaive at his leg and it went flying, using the momentum, I lashed back and decapitated him after he fell.

My sister bawled her eyes out at the sight and backed into a corner behind the bed. Her inclination to cling to life made her flinch at my approach. The mere look in her eyes made it obvious that whatever scraps of her mind remained was nowhere near enough to comprehend the sight before her. I knew at that point, she thought she would suffer a similar fate as those soldiers just did.

My grip on the weapon loosened, as did the grip that mystic trance had on me. I embraced Zada and she quieted a little. Without knowing it, my eyes watered. This consoling of mine was probably more for me than it was for her. Her muffled cries kept ripped apart and her embrace stitched me back together.

Even in the presence of my parents’ lifeless bodies, I had a hard time coming to grips with reality. Every glance was like lighting a torch in a dark valley, a valley made entirely from the ills and unfairness of this world.

It hurt; an insufferable, agonising, and terrible pain beyond any I could imagine. My chest was mangled, but I refrained from thinking of it. My mind was unravelling years of innocence, but Zada was the knot that kept me from fizzling out. I wanted to be strong, a beacon of hope and strength for my sister to latch onto. Or perhaps, my hollowed shell of tasteless ego deterred me from showing it in front of her. Self-loathing gripped the reins of my conscience.

Father always iterated to me that real pride is measured by the happiness of your family, but what was I to make of his teaching now? It stung. Thinking of our future while Zada’s fingers gripped into my back pricked like the thorns of a rose. Beautiful, so beautiful, it could’ve been. Yet the dark side of humanity flipped our futures upside-down and presented itself haughtily to mere children on a platter that embodied the grotesque and rotting reality of war.

We were at war with the neighbouring state, Cythan. How they made it past the border was as much a mystery as why they didn’t kill us when they had the chance. News of the war would reach our ears through rumour at the markets or nearby villages, they were sparse. Father often commented on how foolish it all was, and what he would do if he were the king of Ezramir. We knew nothing of the war aside from what we learnt from our parents and the hearsay of the townsfolk.

My parents were hardworking, yes, but easy-going nonetheless; it made life seem like there were no dangers to be concerned about. We struggled, yet lived lax lives, blinded by the peace of the rural countryside.

I couldn’t help but think my sudden burst of strength had the worst timing. The irregularity of the strange weapon and unknown woman bestowing power onto me was hardly even questioned in the face of our trepidation.

Zada and I later made graves for our parents, gathering whatever ornaments we could in hopes of appeasing their souls with decoration. I never lifted a heavier shovel within the little years I had. Had we family, we would’ve gone to them, but life wasn’t such a generous journey. What now? I pondered.

The gentle winds blew my blood-ridden vest. Flavescent evening light shone clearly the fear in my eyes, fear of the future. Would we be sold into slavery? No, my stubbornness wouldn’t allow it, it couldn’t. Zada was all I had left and I would die before giving up on her happiness. After all, my pride – what was left of it anyway – had to be kept intact. Zada had to live so that I could allow myself to live as well.

We left the house afterwards, refusing to return to a place that would fill us with such unwanted dread, more so knowing we could be attacked again. A cave in the nearby forests where we played as kids would suffice since we had no other family or relatives we knew about. After moving our belongings there, we sat in silence, none of us having an inkling as to what words would soothe the biting atmosphere. We didn’t eat that day; the notion of sleep was aborted as well. All that happened was a pathetic, yet necessary show of licking each other’s wounds.

Doing nothing, however, was the very definition of failure, and failure I could not afford. The more my mind came to accept what happened as actual reality, the more it was reinforced that failure to act would only cause Zada more suffering than what she was already enduring. And under absolutely no circumstances was I to allow myself to fall in love with the highly coveted charms of relinquishing the drive to live. I knew without anyone even hinting to me that my parents would want me to take care of Zada. Their expectations and her happiness were quite the brambled noose, yet it remained the sole reason for my perseverance.

In the coming days, we explored the forests. I had to earn coin somehow and fishing was out of the question for a boy of only ten on those seas. The tall trees of the mystified forests masked the sound of a buck’s hooves beating the ground. I finally caught sight of the beast after it made a turn, galloping straight towards Zada and I.

I pushed her back a bit to get sufficient room and readied the glaive. When it came within distance, I struck, turning the mysterious weapon to the blunt side and smashing the antlered racer into a nearby tree. It became dazed and drifted. I took the opportunity to slice its head off, grazing a bit of a tree’s trunk in the process. Dinner, I thought, trying to remember what our mother had taught us about preparing meat.

Zada shrieked a bit, bringing my attention to her. She pointed over yonder and placed her other hand over her mouth to quiet herself. I traced her finger’s direction and noticed a pack of five grey wolves snaring at us, but eventually they simply retreated. Were they chasing the buck? I wondered, keeping my guard up until they were gone from my sight.

It was then I realised – as if the incident before put me in a haze – that ever since I got the glaive, my body felt different. I didn’t know how I managed to learn these things, but since receiving the weapon from that strange woman, I could feel a surge of power and knew what I was capable of. After all, mastering a weapon without a vestige of training was impossible, yet it happened.

I gained enhanced physical abilities like enhanced stamina, strength, speed, and agility to handle the glaive like it was a third arm. No matter how much I bled, my blood would immediately replenish, and injuries healed much faster than normal. It also granted me immunity to poisons, illnesses, diseases and curses. I knew not why curses were included and thought I’d rather not find out. It felt as if this information was something that I knew my whole life.

Who was she? I asked myself. It was all still very ambiguous and addling. If I hadn’t witnessed my parents’ death, I would’ve likened the glaive, the cryptic woman, and my enhanced physical abilities as nothing but a dream.

The blades were on one end, resembling an enlarged arrowhead but the two tips that were opposite the apex of the blade were a bit elongated, increasing the length of the extremely sharp silver blade. The body of the glaive was a black metal with a silver cylinder, slightly rounded on the edges as its pommel. Running along the body, were two slightly protruding silver lines that told the user where exactly the blades were facing when the user was in the heat of battle and couldn’t afford to pay attention to the direction of the blades.

I returned to the nearest town, where father and I would sell fish in hopes of earning some coin to buy whatever necessities we needed. But of course, no one was going to hire a child. Despite my pleading, despite their knowledge of the situation after asking where my father was, I had no success in getting work.

Handouts were something I wanted to avoid but would still accept, but there was no such thing. Even father’s regular customers closed their doors on me in the pouring rain and simply looked on from the comfort of their homes as I begged other businessmen for a chance to work. It was humiliating, to say the least. But most of all, it was scary that I returned to Zada empty-handed.

We were forced to survive on the fruits of the forest for some days, until I decided to try again, this time with game from hunting a giant elk I lugged across the two-hour trek to the market in town. After some haggling, the butcher bought it from me. I walked away with a big grin, coming to the realisation that hunting was an honest way to earn an income, no questions asked.

It was gruelling work, but my newfound abilities made it bearable. Sometimes, I heard quaint sounds in the forest, whispers of unintelligible speech. There were occasions I paid attention to it, and I would often enter that grey space again, enthralled by something past my understanding. Paying heed to it proved dangerous, as I would always awaken in the midst of an unexplored part of the forest. There would be dangerous predators afoot, and each time I’d fight for my life. Those experiences made me cautious of the compelling whispers, so I ignored them as much as I could.

But they weren’t all a total waste. The beasts I slew often sold easily, as parts of them would be in demand. The coin helped me, and in turn helped Zada. My fights with them were also important lessons on the wildlife around us. I learnt that trying to outrun bears was a mistake, and my scent often gave me away in some shape or form. The tracks, scents, and calls of various animals became engrained in me by force.

I learnt to how to make string, and spent long hours carving out wood from small trees that I fell after using my glaive like a woodcutter’s axe. Those skills allowed me to build defensive partitions around the cave that we lived in.

Things were difficult, but we got by.

After months of developing relationships with the butcher and leatherworker, I overheard something before I left the village one day. Have you heard of the meat shop and that boy? They say the old man’s been robbing the poor soul blind! A woman gossiped to her friend.

I paused in my tracks, refusing to breach the corner. My heightened senses allowed me to eavesdrop much better, but I would ignore all their gossip because they were irrelevant to me, and time was of the essence at every waking moment of my days. However, this time around, I stretched my ears forth.

Aye, he’s that fisherman’s son. He was a weird man, another lady commented, but you’re right. My husband hunts as well and makes at least three times as much coin. I kind of feel bad for the boy.

After eavesdropping enough, I had a clear outline of just how much I’d been taken advantage of and it didn’t sit as well as I thought it would. After a few days of repeating the same hunt and receiving a measly dozen or less coins, I decided to wait it out and hide behind the shop until another hunter came. For each adult deer, thirty coins or more was exchanged.

There was a voice of assertion in the back of my mind, rearing me to confront my issues and injustices. I could almost hear it yell in its whispering tone at me, ripping me further away from reason, commanding me to right the wrongs. Or perhaps to further the wrongs. These were not at all like the soothing whispers I heard in the forest. The feeling it gave was one of subtle rage.

That feeling, one that would cause discord if it continued to grow, slowly gained a prominent space in my mind, especially after I collected my coins. I was afraid of abandoning my meekness, afraid of failure, in spite of my thinning patience.

About a week passed, until one morning, my rival poacher, the butcher’s friend came in right as I was leaving. He watched me, then looked to the old butcher and laughed, invoking a chuckle from the old man as well.

I wasn’t sure if their nauseating laughter reminded me of those soldiers who killed my parents, but something about it made me fly off the reins and sprint back to the butcher. I leapt at the wall and used it as a vault to get over the counter, pushing my hand against his face and slamming it into some piled up wooden crates behind him. He stumbled back and tried pushing me off of him but I raised him up from the collar and headbutted him right in the nose.

His friend, the hunter, jumped the counter as well to stop me, but immediately aborted that charge when I drew my glaive and pointed it right at him. But of course, a man being stopped by a ten-year old boy was pure tomfoolery in the eyes of his ego. He continued his charge, batting away the glaive and walking in, but I simply swung it back to where it was. The hunter’s reflexes served him well when he jumped back; he only got a shallow cut across his chest.

What in blazes are you doing?! the butcher yelled. He was loud enough for the entire market to hear.

I could feel many eyes looking in from the outside. My angst only solidified when he yelled at me. "All the coin you robbed me! I want it, all of it!" I gripped tighter on his shirt.

Chapter 02 – Xan Meets Royalty

Ihunted many animals , skills I barely managed thanks to my father, and made partners in business with butchers and armourers of neighbouring villages. I did however, suffer after trusting some adults. I was conned, robbed, threatened and learnt by force the nature of man. Naivety taught me a heavy lesson, and I saw people as selfish creatures in every aspect of the word.

I appreciated those who showed me kindness despite not knowing who I was. Or at least I appreciated that they didn’t try to trick me. As time passed, I understood that nothing came free, and that I had only myself to depend on. Day-in and day-out I would hunt, skin, and even cook – or try to – in attempts to make ends meet.

So, why was it, after trying as hard as I did to do something good, did I accrue such heavy, savage punishment for standing up for myself? Was I not supposed to? Should I have left the butcher with all the coin he pilfered off my inexperience?

My beating was booked the very next day I appeared at the market. It started off with just two men jumping me and knocking me over. One of them had a metal pipe; that would’ve explained the hollow ring that sounded as I fell, disorientated to the floor. I was stamped upon by their muddy boots. Sharp pains seared through my body with every hit, but I curled up and covered my head in reflex.

I was terrified, but with each blow I received, it would only heighten the volume of that fearless voice residing in my head. No one was standing up for me and bystanders did just that – stood by. Even if that gang could be considered barbaric due to their actions, they weren’t outside the realms of reason. They weren’t exempted from the kill-or-be-killed rules of nature.

Once it snapped in my mind that they were nothing but a bunch of hyenas too scared to hunt alone and I broke the line connecting them to humanity, it was quite easy to fight back. It was the same as surviving the apex predators of the wild; either you died, or your enemy died.

I rolled over to my back, peeking through the openings of my arms so I could locate where they flung my glaive when they ambushed me. It was much too far for me to forego the pain, break through the encirclement of hyenas, and retrieve it. A carving knife hanging off one of them would have to suffice.

I jumped up the moment I saw an opening and snatched it, promptly sticking the owner in his leg then moving up to his throat. Blood ran down my face, making visibility in one eye difficult, but my senses were quite acute and any shift of the dirt below would alert my ears that one of them made a move if I couldn’t see them with my other eye.

With turns and twists, I wormed my way out of their line of attacks, or blocked if I couldn’t avoid it. But with each block, I made sure to inflict damage with the knife until I could get to my glaive. Once I picked up my weapon and cut down another man, the rest fled without hesitation.

My breath was haggard, many bones were cracked and fractured from their lynching. Bruises and lacerations everywhere. I leant against a nearby wall, sliding down and resting. That damn butcher! I thought. Only conjure images of revenge could be conjured against the man in my current rage.

In a few minutes, my body was back to new, as if nothing ever happened. The accelerated recovery still amazed me, and every time I was healed by it, I’d have genuine thanks for who, what, or wherever my power came from.

Thoughts of my parents plagued my mind, it happened so fast I could not properly digest the reality yet. I wondered if that horrible pain was what Mother felt. And that woman, who was she? Why did she help me? What is this glaive anyway? If I separate from it, will I lose my strength? My mind was afflicted by unanswered questions, but eventually I returned home to Zada and those questions melted away by just being in her presence. She was my sanctuary.

Ever since I fought back, those who jumped me would look the other way or keep a safe distance away from me. Luckily, there was more than one butcher in town I could sell to. What’s more, after news got around the market about what happened, my sales increased from other vendors. I realised then that the butcher wasn’t the only vendor taking advantage of me. Afterwards, I would always find out the market price of anything I sold. Perhaps their beating taught me a valuable lesson after all.

Xan, my sister called out to me one morning, wake up.

My eyes squinted open, the morning light rushed to me but Zada blocked it out, cloaked in a damp silhouette. It was hard to believe that two years had already gone by. We made a living from skinning animals for their hides and pelts and selling them to tailors and armourers or hunting game for butchers.

Zada picked herbs and fruits outside after she woke me up. I finally decided to get up and walked out the cavern where we slept. Life wasn’t easy, as we kept to ourselves. I always refused any help or offer that seemed too good to be true, or anything I couldn’t afford. We had to fend for ourselves but were simply too scared to trust anyone anyway. Indeed, any help we got that sounded like charity turned out to be nothing but malefic worms with ulterior motives. Eventually I gave up on believing that good people existed.

We came across a rare find that day. A sabretooth tiger roamed the forests near a small dirt track. It was about one and a half times bigger than the usual adult tiger. Its fur was tough and its body muscular. Its fangs stood out. I could get a lot of coin for that at the right buyer. I crept closer to it. I wanted to kill it without causing too much visible damage, as it would probably be used as a whole rug. Considering this, the best option would’ve been a throat wound, as the underneath of its neck would be hidden when placed on the ground. Striking such a zone would mean sneaking was pointless. I simply walked over to it; it noticed me but didn’t move much. We shared a lengthy moment engrossed in focused eye contact.

I hit it with the blunt side of the glaive to aggravate it. The beast stood up, flared its fangs, and we squared off, watching each other very closely. At that time, a carriage with a few horsemen around it was passing by on the dirt track; a strange sight so deep in the woods. They were soldiers of the state we lived in, Ezramir. They wore special onyx-plated armour and looked to be elites of the army. Dammit, I cursed, they better pass on by. I threw quick eyes on them every now and then, maintaining focus on the sabretooth and eventually it pounced.

Those dirt roads were paths untravelled by most. Furthermore, there was nothing of note in those particular forests. Only the boots of a scout or hunter would ever grace them, so such an entourage was a rare event.

The beast’s bellow caught my attention. I side-stepped quickly and stabbed the side of the sabretooth’s neck, cutting into its throat in one swift strike. Soon after, I heard the doors of the carriage open so I stood ready for attack; they might’ve tried taking my game from me, since it was so rare. My eyes glanced over at Zada to make sure she remained safe and hidden.

A man dressed in fine robes emerged from the passing carriage. Jewels of every colour shone and emphasised his prominence. Some big merchant? I wondered. Maybe a slave trader? My caution overflowed at that thought.

Hello, boy. He had quite a friendly demeanour. Might I speak with you?

I pointed my glaive at him, Stay where you are. You can speak from there. I told him void of an ounce of jape in speech. His guards reached for their weapons but he raised his hand, gesturing them to stand down. What do you want? I asked.

He gave his ashen beard a stroke or two. I wish to recruit you into the Ezramir army. You are talented, my boy! he said.

"Who are you to try to recruit me? I asked. And I’m only a child. You would send a boy to battle? I had my glaive ready to strike him but he simply smiled. Answer me, or I will kill you," I didn’t trust him; all I saw were efforts to waste time and swipe the game from underneath my nose, or something even worse. My paranoia when it came to most adults was at its pith, for good reason. In my eyes, they were all guilty of greed and deceit until proven otherwise.

Wow! Such vigour! He then looked like he truly contemplated my question. However, a confusing shrug was what resulted; truly actions of an easy-going old man. You would do well, boy. My name is Clint Cassius. And no, he shook his head, "I would not send a boy to battle, but you are quite different, are you not? Both mentally and physically.

His eyes averted to the sabretooth. "I know grown men who won’t even think to face off with such a creature, but you did. I know men who took years to learn proper polearm-wielding, but you handle that weapon as if you had it for an eternity. You, are an exception. But even as an exception, I won’t actually send a child to battle." He guffawed.

However, my conscience won’t let me sleep properly knowing I had a chance to help but didn’t. Sometimes you have to listen to the voice in your head. He tapped his temple a couple times. So, what say you? Serve me, and you’ll be justly paid and have a proper place to sleep.

No, I said. There were no errs or doubts in my mind. His offer was just like any other, so I declined flatly. I refuse. Never heard of you. Now leave me.

His face contorted. Lad, are you su–

I’m sure, I said.

He closed his eyes and sighed, taking a few seconds to properly internalise something. Finally, he began to take his leave.

As he opened his carriage door, Zada screamed out from behind a tree and sprinted towards me. Wait! Wait! she shouted.

I stopped her, placing my hand over her mouth, but she pulled it down.

He’s the king, Xan! she said. "The king of Ezramir! I’ve seen portraits of him when I went to the market with Father!"

My eyelids peeled apart as she revealed his identity. The paintings she spoke of were of his younger, well-shaven days, so it was hard to realise. "I see, well that does justify him recruiting me. I thought out loud. But are you willing to trust him?" I asked.

She nodded at me without a shred of dubiety. Had she not suffered enough at the avaricious claws of guileful criminals? How could she so blindly trust someone just because of a meaningless title? If deceptive people had the gall to complain about their leadership’s corruption, wouldn’t that mean that a king was the epitome of falsehoods and treachery?

King Clint Cassius, Zada called. She bowed politely as our parents taught us. What will be of me if he accepts your offer?

He stroked his greyed beard once more. A servant to my youngest son, if you will.

I exchanged looks between him and Zada, still adamant that he was up to no good. Never mind. Just lea–

Zada kicked my ankle and threw an arm over my neck, pulling me aside to have a little conversation before I had the chance to ruin her plan. "Xan, how long are we going to live here? It’s been two years already! Two! She pouted childishly. What’re the chances of an actual king personally asking for you? How can you pass that up?!"

"That’s exactly what’s wrong, Zada! I shook my head in distrust. We live far away from anyone, in some faraway forests. Don’t you think it’s a little weird someone happens to be passing by here? A king no less?!"

How long?! she regurgitated. Her fists clenched and her eyes glared into mine. How long are we going to stay like this? You think this is what Mother and Father wanted for us? It seemed as though my sound argument was losing to her emotions. Are we going to just live and die here?! she asked.

By all means, she was right. It only pricked me even harder when she actually said it. I knew very well that my wariness of others shooed away anyone who might’ve been willing to help us, or at least befriend us. For the past couple years, our living conditions bogged my mind into a quagmire of worries. Sure, I wanted better for us. But for her to bring it up in such a way and spotlight my pessimism of this world only added salt to the wound. What was different about us and other beasts in the forest? We wore clothing? Heck, we were just over-glorified animals. It burnt so badly.

She brought my attention back to her by turning my face towards her. Xan, take his offer. Better yourself. You are strong. You already did so much for me. If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve, she went even quieter, killed myself.

I tittered in my mind. You got it backwards, Zada. At that moment, I thought my ego wouldn’t allow me to change a decision I already made. Damn, why did I have to remember that now? I recollected my father’s words, that a man’s pride was measured by his family’s happiness. Our departure from this life of seclusion was long overdue. I knew we had to open our hearts again, but I wasn’t ready to do that yet. Zada however, expressed her willingness to do so. I couldn’t deny her; I couldn’t deny the one reason I still rose early on mornings. Alright, alright, you win.

We wore tattered robes, yet we sat in a lavish carriage with the king of Ezramir, one of the three states of the continent, Seraan. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Was it a trap? I didn’t let my guard down for a moment. However, I couldn’t enter the carriage with my weapon. It made me a little disconcerted, but I understood the rules against weapons in the presence of a king. But simply imagining my glaive, the weapon that ensured our survival over the past couple years, was out of my hands and in someone else’s, fettered me and poured a reminiscent feeling of helplessness which I abhorred with all my being.

I remained on high alert to our location, through keen sight, sound, and smell. Even particular bumps in the road were mentally noted. I focused so much on tracking our movement that I found it hard to hang on to Clint’s words.

While riding to the capital, Ezrano, he told us of the two other states, the warlike Cythan and peaceful Shouzan. Those two states were both larger than Ezramir, especially Shouzan. After briefing me of the current situation, we finally arrived within the capital, Ezrano.

The place seemed like it was still waking up from a good night’s sleep. But even then, the knights’ filigree-engraved plate armour and warhorses pulled many eyes and comments towards the early-morning march down the main street. We could only peek through the satin curtain in the carriage so our field of view was limited, but the attention we garnered made it obvious how rare of an event this was. What do I do anyway? I asked the stoic, yet contradictorily easy-going king.

Hmm, he said, as if snapping out of deep thought, Well, if you grow competent enough to be a vassal of mine, I shall grant you land in return for your unyielding fealty to me. Usually that means military service, but we must first fix your ignorance of the common workings of war. In other words, you follow me around when I’m available and learn as much as you can, as fast as you can. Once you get a feel for how I make decisions, what you need to consider before you make that decision, and the right timing to do it, then I can trust you to do so as well on the battlefield. When you come of age of course.

All this still felt rather phantasmal, much more so when we entered the posh royal palace, like I was being taken along on some fairy tale. The place was teeming with guards armoured to the teeth. Perhaps he felt comfortable with allowing me to have my glaive with me again because he was confident in his security.

With every step we took, I couldn’t help but rethink Zada’s decision with a coward’s mind. What if it was the wrong choice? What king would bring random children into the palace? If he needed an extra vassal or servant, couldn’t he have that with the snap of his fingers? In the first place, what business would a king possibly have so deep in the woods? Perhaps my sister couldn’t see the dangers like I could. I kept close to her and closely monitored our surroundings.

The minute the king returned, a few men who were substantially older than him flocked around. Some bore documents in need of signing, some relayed important information about matters I couldn’t hope to understand. The elite guards eventually dispersed and left the king’s protection to the palace guards. Clint took the throne, and it solidified his position that he really was a king.

After taking care of business, he turned to talk with Zada and I. But just as he was about to, his attention was once again stolen. A woman in black plate armour encroached and knelt before him. Reporting in for duty, sire, she said. Before long, she laid questioning eyes upon us.

My weapon? I thought. Maybe she felt uneasy with an armed stranger so close to her king.

Clint raised his hand, gesturing for her to stand. She was quite tall, over six feet with amber hair tied behind her head. She was stunning to say the least, even without the bells and whistles most women employed to charm others. Twin sabres sat at her waist and I couldn’t help but feel like she wanted to use them on me with the way she interchanged focus between the king and I. Sure, I stuck out like a sore thumb with the clothes I wore and the fact that I had a weapon, but it felt like more than staring at the odd thing in the room.

Only good news grace my ears of your conquests, General Bryne, Clint greeted. They discussed shortly, her immediate priorities when it came to the Cythan. Even whilst they talked, she still glanced my way occasionally.

What’s with her? Zada asked.

I shrugged at her, Beats me. I don’t think she likes me, and gave a nervous chuckle.

The general bowed to the king after they were done, but before she could turn to walk away, the king nonchalantly asked, You’re interested in him, aren’t you?

Why would you think that? She got a bit defensive.

"Why wouldn’t I? He laughed, his husky voice having a hoarse influence on said laughter. You weren’t exactly discreet. But might I ask why you’re interested?"

She turned to look at us. This time, she had a truly unreserved and uninterrupted gaze. Don’t think me mad, Your Majesty, but it feels like I know him.

Well, I certainly don’t know you. I tittered at her statement, blocking my mouth a little.

The king nodded his head in a subtle sense, as if pondering the general’s statement. I know what you mean. Although, that’s not why I decided to bring him here. This boy actually downed a sabretooth by himself! He showed some childlike excitement. I haven’t seen such deft movements in a very, he paused and emphasised, "very, long time, Bryne. I feel like he’ll be a fine addition to your ranks."

I chortled again.

What is it? Clint asked.

My enjoyment of their conversation wasn’t as inconspicuous as I imagined. Well, I moved my hand from my mouth, for a king, you sure do regard the importance of your feelings highly, I pointed out, hanging onto his words.

He stood up seriously all of a sudden, yet strolled towards me. He placed his hand onto my shoulder, a comforting gesture he must’ve imagined. Your name is Xan, is it not? It is quite true, your assumption that those in our positions should prioritise a conscious and level-headed approach to all decisions, but the problem with that is, he looked me dead in my eyes, it does not always work. What do you do then?

Ask someone for advice? I suggested in a not-so-convincing tone, yet one that contrarily sounded like getting advice was an obvious alternative.

That’s well and fine, but advice is just what it is, advice, he said. It’s not the final point of judgment when it comes to picking your struggle. Your gut, he pointed at my abdomen, poking it a little, your instinct, he clenched his fist, and your conscience, he tapped his temple, these are the things that guide you. They won’t tell you what to do. He encroached the throne, "But they will certainly tell you what not to do. Always listen to them."

I couldn’t think of a counter argument to his claim, especially when so much of what he said reflected true to me and much of my behaviour in the past two years. Although, I still couldn’t totally agree that the leader of a state should adopt that sort of thinking – or lack thereof. I just sucked it up and accepted verbal defeat, nodding at his guidance. "Fine. Then what does your instinct tell you not to do with me?"

Hmm? He raised a brow. Have you somewhere to be, Xan?

I twisted my mouth. The palace wasn’t the most comfortable place to speak, and I believed that the king still hadn’t been very clear on what my responsibilities were. That entire scenario still inflicted a chivvy feeling within me. A king in the woods who hired a child? What was he doing there? Why were there only guards and no vassals or advisors? It almost felt planned, and that was what got under my skin the most. N-no, but I’m certainly not earning my keep by standing around here and chatting. I wanted out of the palace, or at least somewhere that wasn’t as grandiose as a throne room.

The king ran a couple fingers through his beard. You must not trust that my tutelage is enough for you.

My face warped a bit, queasy with uneasiness. But alas, I wasn’t one to politic around. I trust he knew what he was doing when he offered to employ me, and thus there was no need to be reserved about my manners or any such thing.

"Not what I meant. To be more direct, I don’t trust you, I said boldly, and I knew Zada was staring arrows of death at me, but it had to be said. Based on what you stated, your intended teaching of me will take a few years for the least, and that’s a high risk for you – who’s always so busy – to take on a boy you never met. It doesn’t make any sense. You made a decision like that because you saw me kill one beast. Clint, you’re not too believable right now."

I took that chance to peek back at Zada, but she only sighed and shrugged. The conversation could go anywhere at this point. I spoke to a king as if I was weighing the pros and cons of both our positions in that venture, like it was just another business deal I made before. "Just be straight, what is it you really want from me?"

Chapter 03 – Genesis of a Legend

G rant Zada absolute protection, I commanded of the king in the dimly lit room he brought us into. Let not a hair be touched on her head, let not even the most powerful, or anyone for that matter, be able to harm her. Grant her that, I elaborated, "and I will fall your enemies, as many as it takes."

I made those bold claims, after King Clint Cassius revealed the truth – though somewhat ambiguous – of why he brought me to Ezrano, the capital. He said he had a vision from his dreams. It keeps happening, at least twice a week! He squeezed his mug in anxiety. Adults were certainly subtle in their deception, but sometimes the truth was so undeniably clear, so brazenly apparent that you wouldn’t question it for even a second – or maybe he was just a good actor.

"There were two giants, two beings of tremendous power! I-I can’t describe it, but no mortal man could ever hope to match them. I don’t even think they were human. However, one of those beings was weaker than the other. The weaker one had three allies with him, three other beings with strength far surpassing any living creature in Seraan. They helped the weaker one fight, but, he squeezed even tighter, his veins in the arm almost ready to pop, it was never clear who the victor was. I don’t know who won this great battle, but there is one thing I do know – somehow, Seraan’s very existence depended on that fight."

I trembled at those words, a sharp shiver speeding up my spine. But, what do I have to do with any of that?

"I do not know, Xan. But never in all my years of ruling have I had a stronger calling. The moment I saw you in those woods, every single fibre in my body screamed at me. It was an otherworldly feeling. When I saw you, I had that exact same feeling of absolute helplessness that I always get in that dream. There was something blocking me from making any other choice than the one I made. I know, for a lad as wary as you, it sounds like mere fable, but I truly believe this is something bigger than any of us. Something we simply cannot, or perhaps, should not comprehend. Yet, something we cannot ignore."

Zada somewhat flinched at his story, but not much else. She sure was passive about it.

What will you do then? I asked. I am here. If your dream holds true, if I’ve something to do with it, then what will you do?

Test you, he said. Suddenly, he stood up. His decorated fur coat swayed behind as he perambulated out the room, I must see for myself if my intuition was right.

He put Zada in the care of some other servants and we returned to the throne room. Bryne, his general, was still there, still eyeing me.

I thought she left.

King Cassius took his seat. My sons oft go to battle Cythan as commanders of their own units, I’m thinking of sending you with one of them. But they’ve only just returned, it’ll be some weeks before they head out again. Hmm... He made a thinking sound, stroking his greyed beard.

I’ll take him. The general stepped forward.

But you’re a general, the king said. You hardly have the leisure to teach a child the art of war with the scale of battles you partake in. Besides, you’ve only just returned as well.

I was about to visit the dispute over Felyan. There are some small settlements around Felyan that must be liberated if we are to regain control. I ask that you allow this small favour. The general bowed her head.

The king didn’t take a very long time to consider. She got what she wanted; for the next three days, I journeyed with General Bryne and a small group of soldiers, no more than thirty, northeast of Ezrano. There was certainly an exciting feeling of adventure as we weaved in and out of forests, yet a foreboding feeling stabbed at me.

Could it be that parting from my sister for as long as I did, made me have thoughts of regret? I couldn’t know. Mayhap it was the fact that all of this happened so fast. What on earth was I doing in some military party with a general of Ezramir when I was hunting animals a few days ago? None of this felt like a natural course of events, not when life remained monotonous and uncaring for over two years in the forests.

On our travels to Felyan, I would do what I knew – hunt. We were certainly never hungry, and the few times the general saw me in action only convinced her that Clint’s whimsical decisions weren’t wrong.

General Bryne, a soldier called out, helmet hugged at his side, we’re just a few hours from the first settlement, he informed, trying his utmost best to maintain his composure. By the way they spoke to her throughout the trek, anyone could tell she was a very feared general. No one approached unless they had something they had to report. They even talked to a stranger like me a lot more casually than they did her, but that was expected given her rank in Ezramir’s army, and my lack thereof.

I don’t know if they fear or respect you. I fixed myself for the umpteenth time. I was behind her, riding uncomfortably plastered to her back on the trotting horse. Whoever came up with the idea to ride these things clearly didn’t have gems hanging between their legs.

That’s good, she said. The side of her lips curled up for just a moment. A little bit of both is good.

We arrived at Felyan at noon. The fight – or fight of glares rather – was locked in an almost inactive stalemate. Both Ezramir and Cythan forces laid around, keeping a close eye on each other. A battle of optical attrition clearly wasn’t in their scopes of possibility, but the circumstances somehow led to it.

The leader grew tense. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost when the general appeared; after a few seconds of gawking at her, he bowed and smashed a fist into his palm. General! He then debriefed her on the current standing of the situation.

Within a couple minutes of scanning the landscape, the general drew up a fast and effective plan to break into enemy lines and disrupt the stare-down. The Cythans were huddled onto a mound, making it difficult to easily infiltrate the barricades they set up. Whilst we had about a hundred or so more men than they, we only amounted to about three hundred men. She discussed the plans with the current leader of the group and he readied the men for assault.

Although my objective was to observe, there was no way I’d do that with Cythan soldiers in front of me. After all, I had my own personal reasons to see Cythan soldiers die horrible deaths. My self-appointed role was quite simple. Me and a few other agile soldiers would flank left, where the mound was the steepest. The bulk of soldiers, which consisted of half the vanguard, took centre stage for a meaningful distraction. The general herself put her swords to use and flanked to the right, where the mound wasn’t as hard to climb, but also had the most barricades.

I tried breathing deeply but

Horns blared and screams crashed into each other in the skies when the Cythans noticed us taking up formations. Our flanks were shielded from Cythan arrows, but nowhere as much as the centre was. The centre’s primary goal was to survive whilst slowly advancing to apply as much pressure as possible. Ezramiran archers rained arrows atop the Cythans to further confuddle our enemies.

The left flank that I was situated in reached close enough to hide behind the shoddy barriers that were set up on our side, so we were without casualties, ready, and waiting for the signal to attack. That signal was in the form of a small column of smoke, which only helped to distract the fumbling Cythans even more. With that, we finished our ascent into battle.

I thought, after all the sneaking around we did, that the men I was with wouldn’t scream out and basically announce their positions as they charged in; but they did just that. I paused in hesitation. Cold feet? I wondered. Would I just be a waste of space? Did my heroics amount to nothing? Was I nothing more than an overconfident fool too stupid to see danger? Men were falling in front of me. I cursed myself; a searing heat lanced at the back of my neck and I condemned my cowardice. They’re right there, in front of you! I chastised myself constantly, until my presence of mind felt like it was fizzling away.

My grip tightened around the body of the glaive and I claimed my first Cythan under Ezramir’s banner by having the blade travel upwards, slicing through his abdomen and allowing some entrails to bulge out before he fell. The second target in my eyes was already preoccupied with defending himself from an ally. They locked swords and pushed against each other in an unnecessary show of strength.

I stayed behind my Ezramiran ally and only side-stepped into the enemy’s line of sight when I was unavoidably close, impaling his stomach and dislodging some of his lower vertebrates. He gripped onto the glaive’s neck, falling back with it in him. I hastily wrung it, inflicting even more agony unto him so he’d let go, then forcefully ripped it out of him.

Fighting wolf packs made me abundantly aware of my surroundings, no matter what I was doing. Sound, smell, even the direction of wind as an enemy neared me made it almost impossible to ambush me after my survival in the forest. But nothing could beat my ever-sure eyes. After all, seeing was believing for me, so I kept them peeled and checked everything around me. I took particular advantage of the enemies already swept up in combat because they were easy targets. They opted for chainmail instead of bulky plate, which made it rather almost effortless for me to cut through.

My strength felt like quite the norm to me, as I had yet to meet a resistance strong enough to deny that glaive of mine the pleasure of a cleave. However, it was made abundantly clear by the stares of perplexity from both enemy and ally as I continued my rampage through the Cythan ranks. Yes, it was quite unnatural, otherworldly even.

My adolescent strength was more than that of the average soldier. The versatility I employed was something unpredictable. The unorthodox way I fought was thanks to hunting and was embedded in habit. My speed and agility were already far above what others could ever hope to mimic. And the very unique weapon spelled an irregularity on the battlefield. Not your run-of-the-mill sword or spear, the shape and size of my glaive placed emphasis on how much strength was needed to use it, much more master it.

Tearing through their armour, enduring the cuts and stabs, pulling the arrows from me the moment the chance presented itself were all feats not often seen in such rapid succession. We advanced forward with a ghastly fervour and before I knew it, I was in the front, almost clearing a path and leaving only injured crumbs for my allies to finish off. As my body grew accustomed to fighting actual people, my habits of attacking the legs or abdomen were fading away and I concentrated on the upper torso and neck. My defence was certainly put to the test after the horrendous number of injuries that I received, but