Dedicated to Sandy, Stanny, Qew, Kingslayer, Willas and Bryn.

KINGDOM OF ELYSSEA
IRONGRAD, the capital city.

Lady Cerena had dreamt of the red Suns only a moon ago and now their prophecy fell from the cliffs of her lips in hopeless whispers. There was only one omen that the people of the Elyssean Kingdom spoke of in times of trial and turmoil. The befallen doom and the revelation that came from the skies in scorching round figures.

The Suns that had slain mankind's foes and brought a new world forth. They all drew courage from the legend they made religion. It taught them all to seek the Holy's protection and always bow before the Sun, the Star, the Crown and the Sword.

The Rubious Pyre, the Celestial Flesh, the Vinous Divine and the Offered Soul.

Cerena mouthed the words of the song hoping the gracious light would fill her, as she was promised many a time it would. The intricate prayers only confused her, she kept forgetting how each verse was sung. The words slipped flat and quiet like a gospel written in her mind by someone else's hand.

She had let herself weep in grief again, like many other nights she had feared for the fate of the king. For a while she was convinced that the Holy was keeping him alive and gave him his strength back little by little. Then all of a sudden her king fell sick and never recovered.

Now, all they had to do was witness his passing to the afterlife for they could keep him to life no more. And that had been Cerena's greatest wish.

The curtains were drawn shut. Decorated magenta walls and silver tapestries were firmly illuminated by the faint candlelight. Paintings with all their mythos and ornaments hid in the shadows like dying legends. Everything in there looked too much of a luxury for such vulnerable mortal moments. It felt uncomfortable to have the gold and finery sparkle or make it all seem any more royal than it already was. She despised how much the room was filled with nonsense that reeked of mockery.

Cerena wanted to tear every single thing down, burn it until her pain stopped and another reality formed.

The tranquil darkness had swallowed many parts of the king's chambers, shrinking the focus on the imposing figures inside. Only four people from the council were there, including Cerena; The Head Minister, the captain of his militia and his castellan.

"It's been days and his Grace has not spoken." Lady Genelle Coryll, the lady governor of the royal castle, spoke in defeat.

"To my great sorrow, this seems to be his final moment." The physician said.

How was it possible for the King to fall so deeply ill and not say a word of his successor so far?

"I told all of you that no one will be chosen from his lips, and here we are." Cerena couldn't help but recall the prophetic warning she had given them.

The late hour of the night hadn't made her eyes heavy one bit, they were however as lifeless as they could be. Everyone could see how the rosy hues were missing from her ivory colored skin. The unkept auburn hair of hers fell on her shoulders and covered most of her back, like a fiery cape.

"It's a lost cause now. Leave it for the council." She added with a sigh. They were all wise enough to do so.

King Alleas' body laid as still as a melting candle and with breaths as faint as its flames. Perhaps it was the sight, or the devastating ending of her songs, but Cerena choked on the coming sobs. For once she had no courage left, and no spirit.

''This woman, lords, has become better than any of you,'' the beloved king would say and kiss the back of her hand. He wouldn't leave her now, would he? Not when everyone seeks to see her fall.

At least she had found temporary solace in that room, away from the cold faces of all those who'd never feel her pain. The rattling of armor and heavy steel steps, the whispers of succession and the sight of the bells were far far away now. Cerena held his hand without squeezing it, abandoning the hope that she'd find it warmer than before. The man was dying a King, in his royal bed, in front of his royal court and with his false daughter saying her prayers.

All of a sudden there was a fluttering of life right before her eyes where she least expected it. The smallest hint of movement on the bed. The King's eyelids sprung open, and with long blinks he gazed around the room. Cerena had ceased her crying and almost squealed out all the things she had to say. Her voice stuck at her throat as the old king squeezed her hand so much it trembled. ''Your Grace,'' Cerena mumbled and instinctively attempted to get up from her chair, in case she needed to help him.

His jaw hung from his head and stayed unmoving, with no words coming out from his open mouth. There was no emotion in his eyes as they scanned all the once familiar faces in the room. Big, yellowed bulging eyes that had lost all their blue spark. They suddenly gleamed hungrily at Cerena, and with agony. His brows were raised and frowned, forming red and sweaty wrinkles on his forehead.

''Let me, my lady!'' the physician spoke louder after the many times he had repeated himself. He motioned for her to withdraw her hand. The King wouldn't even turn to look at the man who had almost climbed upon his bed to treat him.

''It's his final words you fool, quiet down!'' Langron Hedd, the imposing captain of the militia order, yanked the physician away and took his place. Now his attention was fixated on his old friend who was coming alive.

The long-serving knight was a man of dark brown skin and deep hazel eyes, with a barely noticeable black stubble framing his jaw and cheeks. As he sat by the bed he took his helmet off and placed it on the nightstand. Beneath it was a crown of inky coarse hair he kept as cropped as possible. When standing he was the tallest man in the room, and the only one in steel plate armor and a sword. Throughout the night he had kept quiet and his eyes were avoiding to face the mourning.

The King pulled Cerena's hand closer and her body followed. ''Speak to me, your Grace.'' she whispered with a voice stripped of all past laments. It was sweet and tender and trusting, the way Cerena had always been to him. ''Speak to me,'' she repeated, trying to drown out everything else. Meanwhile, the rest of the bystanders in the room approached the scene cautiously, with shock on their faces.

With all the power left in his frail sickly body, king Alleas leaned to the side toward her. He was so close Cerena could feel his breath on her knuckles. ''Denisse,'' A croaky whisper came out of his mouth along with mumbling she couldn't comprehend. Her mother. ''Yes, yes,'' He nodded, and the only thing she could do was follow. His lips had dried down and more air came out of them than words.

''What did he say?'' Langron asked across the bed.

Cerena didn't raise her eyes to answer to anyone as she forced herself to respond quietly ''Denisse is long gone my king.''

''The princess!'' He mouthed repeatedly in different tones. Just sentences with only one word. His eyes flinched, and widened even more. ''The princess,'' Cerena's eyes were beginning to tear up again even if her lips stretched to an apologetic smile. Somehow she wished he had passed away quietly, this was a stab in her heart.

''Your Grace, there—'' Her voice broke before she could finish. Many had mockingly called her a princess as she was raised under the king's wing and was more loved than his sons. But that word came with its own venom and bitterness. Nothing of what she had around her was ever hers, and those who came too close only wished her death. The word that the king might've said, was only a painful memory for Cerena.

But he felt her misery somehow, for he too quietly teared and squeezed her hand in the rhythm of a pulse. ''She will find her,'' Cerena was certain he told her.

''Do you want me to find someone for you, your Grace?''

''He spoke of his sons, no?'' the knight once again asked. He was just as willing as Cerena to understand all of this.

''I don't know.'' she whimpered.

Amidst the small crowd around his bed, the king pinned his eyes on lord Leothane Belanur. The head minister straightened his posture and leaned in waiting for his share of final words. Instead the king's breath turned loud and slow, like a growl brewing up in his chest, when suddenly his eyes winced in pain. He kept them shut, and breathed heavily into tranquility again.

''The princes?'' Castellan Genelle, asked more of those around her. ''I thought he didn't want them here.'' The stout was one of the most valuable royal consultants and overseer of the castle. In daunting moments such as this she always kept circling her ringed finger around a brown curl of hers. Even so, she was the most vibrant in the room, with her deep sandy skin gleaming in a red gown.

''Wait--what princess?'' Cerena insisted and asked, aching for an answer. A reason for this to mean something. All the while she tried to understand the rest of the mumbling he did.

They weren't even sure of the one word he managed to say. ''He's asking for his sons, clearly.'' Belnaur said sharply and distanced himself from all this. ''But all three of them are missing from this room, so matters of succession will be taken up in the council room.'' The disappointment in his tone was prominent.

How can they be so heartless? The fiery haired girl glared at them all. As if the traditional procedure of a king's passing would be applied here, she thought bitterly.

''What's with all of you? He's not dead!'' Cerena grasped the sheet of the bed with her other hand. ''You,'' her eyes found their glow again as they landed on the royal physician ''Tend to your king, he's still breathing!''

The rattling of steel that was heard afterwards was Langron who stood up and made room for the man to inspect the king. He wouldn't admit or show how much he wanted Cerena to be right.

The Head Priest who was present for the ceremony wore his lenses and spoke with a modulated voice. ''It may not be the ideal hour but perhaps we can find peace to pray for his soul now? It'd be improper not to.''

''No!'' She protested. '' Would a dying man awake like that? You have to give him more time--''

Lord Belnaur cocked his head in silence and lady Genelle nervously sought the answer to all these commands. Sir Langron was lost in his thoughts in an inconspicuous mourn. Cerena was alone.

The physician did as he was told in the end, and the Head Minister finally took a stand. ''You may begin, your holiness. This may be his final hour regardless, and we owe it to him to do this the right way.'' Not even Cerena could oppose that. Scorching heavens above, why did she feel so alone already? Now the only hope left was for her gift of dreams to show her what her king meant with these last words.

After one final inspection by the royal physician, it was confirmed that the old King's heart had stopped beating. ''His Grace has honored his last moments. Let us guide his soul to the Holy in prayer,'' said the Head Priest. And they all lowered their gazes, listened to the ritualistic words that were said for every mortal passing from this earth from his mouth. Only Langron and Cerena shared a glance before quickly averting their eyes away. None of them had any spirit left to protest the Sleeping.

There has never been a life more precious to her than his, and it vanished.

''We will get the body to the temple as soon as possible. Ready the pyre too.'' Belnaur spoke softly, trying to put an end to this.

The Head Priest's pale hairless face had reddened from the heat of the room and the excessively long chanting. "So it shall be done, my lord," He closed his book and called for his assistant to gather the things that had been prepared for the ceremony. "I better notify the Temple of our good King's Passing. And word for the body of course—my deepest condolences. My ladies, lords." He bowed on each mentioned and gathered his robes.

Across the room, Sir Langron picked his helm, holding it bitterly. Silence was drowning them all, an energy more hungry and chaotic than the waves of Stellfall Bay. All of a sudden, the candle flames flickered and screeched. The scent of the sea reached Cerena's nose as she inhaled a deep breath.

A spirit called to her.

All the bystanders remained in the despair of their thoughts or prayers and hadn't noticed a thing. Soon the room emptied slowly after what seemed ages. When they left the room to tend to write the King's wrongs, Cerena's body moved seamlessly towards the window. The restless shore, the crying moon. . . When she closed her eyes, she only felt the fire. Perhaps she was safer where she stood. With a dead king's corpse and a dynasty fading.

A/N

This was a tough chapter to write for sure! And quite the heavy read huh? I chose to introduce the most integral characters to this plot. The princes of course deserve their own dramatic entry. This is I think the third edit of the opening chapter? Yeah, last edit on 23rd of August 2020

Now I have a vital question: Do you want me to list a cast for the characters? As in, tell you which actor would play which character.

What were your thoughts? Don't forget to vote and comment!

Who is your favorite character so far?

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