~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter three

Cyril was running.

The heat of fire nipped at his ankles as he tried to escape the shouts of the soldiers chasing him from behind. His hands clenched as he gritted his teeth forcing himself to ignore the screams of those who were being slayed behind.

Tears covered his face, along with ash and blood.

"Why?"

No matter how he asked, no one could answer how he'd gone from sitting on his fathers lap enjoying his praise to watching both his older brother and father lead troops out to only be annihilated.

"There is the Grand Prince!"

Hearing someone shout behind him, Cyril panicked and frantically looking around himself he spotted an exit that led into the empty yard and ran for it.

The high beams where like grim shadows judging from above. As his first foot crossed the threshold the sound of battle abruptly stopped.

The smell of burning wood and flesh no longer filled his nose. The sensation of fire nipping at his ankles had ceased. All around him was silence and no light.

Surprised, he turned in a circle trying to find an exit or a light that would lead him out of this complete darkness.

Spotting what looked like light ahead he ran for it. As he drew closer the light slowly took shape and he noticed the darkness abating revealing what looked like a ruined worship chamber. A large platform was seated at the top of the steps. On top of it sat a shadowy figure, who's legs were crossed. Their right elbow rested on their knee, and they rested their chin on their hand.

Hesitant, he stopped right before crossing the threshold and glanced back over his shoulder.

"Oh, I wasn't sure you'd make it so quicky," A deep feminine voice filled his head.

He clapped both his hands over his ears. "Who?"

The shadowy figure shifted uncrossing their legs, the leaned back braced by their arms. Their eyes opened revealing golden glowing orbs. "Isn't less a 'who' question, and more a 'what'?"

Cyril shuddered as the voice responded to his question.

"It'll be hard to talk if you don't come inside dear boy." The figure made a waving motion with their right hand and Cyril sucked in a fearful breath as he felt himself lifted by unseen hands and brought to the bottom of the steps and settled down.

"Now, isn't that better?"

Cyril wanted to yell 'no' but he was still trying to get a hold of what was going on. He'd been running from the destruction of his kingdom and now he was knelt in a what looked like coms chapel speaking to some specter.

The voice in his head chuckled. "I'm fare more than a specter, but I guess I should give you some clarity."

She pointed at a corner and suddenly what looked like a moving painting started to roll. Cyril eyes widened as he watched what looked like a birds eyes view of his uncle's kingdom being destroyed. "The subjugation of Calderon has already happened, and all those related to their royal family have either been executed, imprisoned, disappeared, or enslaved."

Cyril stared at the screen, his expression growing paler and paler as the memories slowly returned. That's right, his home was gone, and his family burned off the face of the earth. "I-I and my sister...we..."

The specter voice held no emotion as if they were repeating some story from a dusty history book. Cyril, wanted to lash out and curse them but all he could remember was his aunts body falling as she attempted to protect them from the attacking forces.

Her brilliant gold hair covered in red blood.

"I found you, Cyril Langdon; first son of Grand Duke Hilja and noted talent of Calderon." The specter faded from the platform and reappeared a few steps above him. "I saved you from an enslaver, human trafficker? Honestly, both careers are trash but that's not what's important."

Cyril despite his anguish, wondered if the specter was always so ditzy. But that was a passing thought, when he felt two fingers press against his forehead he frowned glaring up at it. "What do you want from me? I know things like you don't do things out of the kindness of their heart."

"Hmm, you're a tough one. It's giving red eyes and black hair energy, I like it."

"Am I wrong? If you were doing this out of kindness of your heart. I don't believe you'd play such games by forcing me to relive my worse memories," Cyril sneered his blue eyes cold.

Kneeling, the specter eyes curved in humor. "I didn't want to put you through the torture but— you have to admit pain is what makes you stronger. Especially, people like you born who are born with both talent and privilege. Without you suffering you'd never go beyond other expectations of you."

"Heh, are you trying to say my family died so I could become stronger?" Cyril exclaimed; his teeth bared like an animal. "I'd rather be average, and suffer my name never being known than be more, if it would return my family to me. I would sacrifice my arm for my kingdom to return."

"Bold words for a child who's only lived twelve years of his life."

Cyril wanted to tear the specters face after it called him a child.

"Remember, you saved this worthless child of twelve," he snapped.

White teeth flashed before the Specter stood and stared down at him. "Yes, I did. So, rather than you, asking me, what I want. I'll ask you, Cyril; what do you want?"

Surprised at the specters question stared up at her blankly.

The specter clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Come, you can't be nervous now? Tell me, Grand Prince. What do you want?"

She snapped her fingers and a moving picture of the Imperial Army of the Empire appeared. "Do you want me to annihilate the army that invaded Calderon, or maybe," the picture changed to a view of five crests. "Should I wipe their five noblest clans off the map?"

Cyril just stared at the pictures.

"Or?"

The picture changed to show a picture of what looked to be the empires cabinet of parliament members. "Kill the men who supported the emperors choice."

The picture flicked to show an older man who stood beside the throne. "Maybe, the one who plotted with the idea of greed of owning Calderon."

The specter showed another picture of a red headed male, who stood above a downed enemy his sword hand raised above his head. "The emperor who's become nothing but a puppet with a taste for blood."

The final picture of people cheering in the streets. "The people, who dared to shout and congratulate those who slaughtered the Calderon people."

The specter stared at the moving pictures. "Revenge is so tricky. Once it's starts, it keeps devouring searching for that bite that would finally satisfy its hunger."

Cyril stared at the moving pictures above his eyes moving from one to the other. He seemed to be searching for an answer, his expression became more and more twisted. Maybe it was too much for a twelve-year-old to have to make such a huge choice alone.

"Tell me, have you ever killed someone before?"

The question drew his attention; his eyes appeared to be too big for his face. He bit his lip before he shook his head.

"But you want to?"

Cyril returned his eyes to the screens he swallowed; his throat suddenly felt dry. "Yes."

"Well, I can help you learn how to kill," the specter said. "But let me show you a few things that could result from you're killing of the emperor."

Cyril tensed at the hint of humor in the specters voice. As he watched the one with the red headed emperor suddenly change to him but older. He snuck along the dark halls, his eyes dead and he appeared unhealthy.

"I've watched this a couple of times, and I gotta tell yah it wasn't fun."

Cyril flinched when he felt the specter chilly shadow tendrils caress his cheek from behind. "Now watch."

He forced himself to focus on himself, climbing the side of the building and entering the chambers of the Tyrants. Just as he reached the bed a sword slammed through his stomach and yanked out. The red eyes of the savage tyrant glowed as they stared at him, before the person who'd killed him took a drink from a bottle. "String him up, I'll play with him tonight."

Stunned, Cyril eyes were covered by a hand. "I won't bore you with the details, but let me say the Tyrants obsession with not having Blonde hair. Makes it so when he finds someone with them he plays with them in all sorts of ways till they die."

The darkness slid from his face, leaving a soothing sensation that was oddly comforting.

"Just in case you were wondering. Every situation you go to kill that psychopath ends with you in his hands being played with until you die. And baby while it's quite inspiring for dark mm romance it wouldn't be all that inspiring for you."

The specter floated around to his front and caressed his chin. "So, tell me sweets are you sure death to your enemies is what you want?"

Cyril glared at the specter. "If you're unwilling to help me, than why are we here? Aside, from wanting to torture me with this story of yours."

"I want to give you something far more valuable than killing some dying tyrant. Dear, I, can offer you another kingdom. If you agree to what I want, you'll be staring down at that poor drunkard before you're twenty-five but...it would require patience. Do you have the endurance to grit your teeth to grow strong and powerful?"

Cyril forced himself to his feet, tired of looking up at the specter. "Be clear! Are you offering me strength or not?"

"I'm offering a rebirth," the specter said staring up. "I'm offering a seat at a table that has yet to be set but the opportunities it will give will be scrumptious. Cyril, you lost everything. And with losing everything you've seen how it feels to be at the bottom. It would be a shame to crawl you're way back up all just to become a toy of the man who said one word, ' attack'. The empire has power, and you, do not."

Cyril gritted his teeth his eyes narrowing, "Your point."

"You have no power, and therefore how can you resent loosing something? Your father and uncle, the entire Hilja clan that ruled Calderon lost in a war of power. To be honest, you shouldn't pity them. If anything, you should resent them."

"Shut up," Cyril shouted lashing out, but the specter body flashed away. Two hands landed on his shoulder.

"You should resent them for being weak and too stupid when they were given chance to escape. Your uncle knew the emperor hated him for looking more like an Imperial than him. You're father knew that there were those who were envious of Calderon prosperity. And what did they do?"

The specter hissed words were like poison to him. Cyril hated that he'd thought these things when he'd been shivering on the floor of the cage he'd been tossed in. "Feign ignorance, and prey to a false god for mercy."

The specters laughter was dark. "Awe, if only some powerful being would guide the Tyrants eyes somewhere else. How foolish. How weak. Men can only help men. Sure, gods can you give a bit of bump with fate. They can be nice like that, but there is no god who would help those who won't raise a sword or calculate a victory on their own."

"Enough," Cyril yanked away from the specter and landed on the steps. "Enough, my father and uncle were brave men. I won't allow you to talk about them in such a way."

"Oh, and how will you stop me," the specter size grew as the light above dimmed. "I have power. I am more than men or beast; I crawl not on four or two legs. I am the decider of fates and bearer of death and life. Tell me. Prince of nothing, what is it you can do?"

Choking on the blood lust that was pouring from the specter, Cyril struggled to speak. His eyes grew red as he tried to breathe. The pressure only grew the more he tried to fight it.

"Come, surely you can do something?"

"I-ack- I will fight," He shouted. "I will fight and fight, and only when I'm dead will I stop. Even if I have to sell my soul to the demons of Aedon I will fight and defeat my enemies. Hilja will stand, Hilja will prevail!"

His shout echoed loud and clear. Even if this was the last thing he ever said, he wanted to ensure that his cry would be loud and clear to the devil before him. Cyril had watched those he loved die, but he'd also watched them stand up and fight when needed. The bravery of his aunt still ran through his mind of her standing boldly between blade and children.

When her body hit the ground she'd been smiling.

Similarly, to his brother and father gearing up to fight the two hadn't looked afraid in fact they'd showed pride in being able to fight for their country.

"I hear your cry Hilja. Then, take my hand and I will provide you with strength for your worship. Hear me my son of Hilja, be reborn and claim your blessing."

Cyril Hilja vision flickered as he watched a shadowy hand reach for his and hearing the promise of strength. Despite his blurry consciousness he could hear the change of the spectators' tone and struggling he took it's hand.

The minute their hands touched a sensation of weightlessness over came him and light exploded all around him. His eyes widened as he met warm gold eyes that adorned a beautiful face of deep tan skin, that wore a luminous smile.

The beautiful picture was brief as if giving him a small picture of paradise.

"Dear, first believer welcome. I am your Goddess Aesira. And you, my first King. I offer you my blood, and my blessing," the beautiful face grew nearer, and a soft pair lip pressed against his forehead and suddenly he was released and fell back into the deep pool of consciousness.

"Aesira." The softly spoken name passed his lips like a prayer.

TBC

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author Note: I guess I should get a schedule together but I'm just loving being able to create again. I'll think it over.