Chapter 1: A Royal Boy
Blue skies, green trees, and peaceful waters, that was what the Dawning Age looked like twenty-five years later, since the death of Demetrian on that horrific day. The world of the Dawning Age seemed to take shape once more. No more wars of violence, the skies no longer darkened by Trymissius. Clear blue skies revealed the mid-summer sun, reflecting its rays. The trees, no longer corroded by hatred, rather lifted up by the caroling sparrow nesting in its branches.
Some distance away, a robin flew overhead, passing a luscious and green forest, whose immense size gradually branched out into an arc. Five abundant farms rested beside the wood, their crops telling of the soil’s richness and prosperity. Four more duplicated farms sat in unison behind the first. A large amount of hay, covering a portion of the widespread grasses, piled beside a farm. The sound of a pitchfork gathering hay interrupted the birds’ melodious sound.
Blond hair, standing an inch above his scalp, erupted from his large head. A strong chest appeared through a sweat-damped shirt. A ripped chest was faintly seen through his sweat-damped shirt. Themeus enjoyed working in the fields, and the smell of fresh air blowing against his face and chest. Hot sunrays, beating down upon him, relaxed his whole being. Joy and accomplishment filled his senses, even though he was assigned to manage the stable, and the senses of taste and smell he left out. Themeus, heading towards a brown barn, carried a pitchfork full of hay.
The old, rustic barn, stationed beside the forest, housed four magnificent horses. The stables red roof, missing a board, appeared old and worn-down. A cobweb-filled interior displayed an ill-kept shelter.
“Looks like the old man put me up to this again,” Themeus said as he walked up to a horse, turning his pitchfork upside down, releasing the hay. Staring in bewilderment, the stallion shook its head, neighing in disagreement.
“What? Not Hungry?” Themeus wondered. “what’s the matter with you.” He said, stroking the mare’s neck. I wonder where Rugen is, Themeus thought to himself, running out of the stable towards an old cottage.
A dusty, old, and maroon roof rested upon the gray, stone home, positioned at the base of a tall, gray cliff. Cobwebs filled the shack’s broken window. No steps appeared outside the home, but a dark brown terrace at ground level.
A long, scraggly beard attracted Themeus’s attention, his eyes following the beard up to the face of a tall, skinny fellow.
His features resembled an old man who had reached his wisest years. Drooping, green eyes gazed from his wrinkled face, a tilted, gray hat rested upon his head, and he wore a brown, belted robe. Holding a long, gray staff, the man displayed a silver sword inside a light brown sheath, resting at his side. Gray sandals, with three brown straps clasping at the ankle, covered the wizard’s feet.
The wizard sat upon a wooden, marred chair while smoking a long, gray pipe. His right hand grasped a staff made of carefully sanded wood; his left grasped an old book, while his eyes moved steadily across the pages.
“Can’t you work too?” Themeus wondered, shouting halfway from the house.
“I am,” Rugen sarcastically yelled lowering his book just enough below his face to see the whites of his eyes. Raising the book back to its original position, the wizard took a puff of his pipe.
It seemed that Rugen had a plan for all the labor placed on Themeus’s shoulders, as if the wizard found some value in these hardships the young man had yet to figure out.
A young man rode his horse, galloping towards the house.
“Themeus!” an approaching voice yelled, “what are you doing?”
“Chores,” Themeus replied.
“Well, be careful. By the time you’re done working, you won’t have any sweat left,” the voice said as the young man greeted Themeus.
His shaved head reflected the sunlight. Brown eyes, darker then tree bark, glared from a firm and narrow face.
“Look a you, sweat dripping in every direction,” he said putting a hand on Themeus’s left shoulder.
“Well, Demeus, when you’re under Rugen’s eyes, all you can do is sweat,” Themeus said, smiling with his friend.
“Do you want to come horseback riding with me? I set up targets in the fields,” Demeus asked as he threw Themeus a bow and a quiver of arrows.
“I would love to! Hold on,” Themeus replied, running towards the cottage. “hey, Rugen! Can I go riding with Demeus?”
“I guess you need a break,” Rugen said, sighing.
“Well c’mon. First one to get a bulls-eye wins! I want to beat you quickly,” Demeus boasted with a slight chuckle.
“Don’t get cocky, or I’ll have to mistake you for a target!” Themeus laughed as he ran towards the stable. He hastily saddled his mighty horse, then grabbing the reins of his stallion, Themeus kicked his beast’s side, commanding the beast to launch the small gate open, and belted down the road to meet Demeus in some friendly competition.
Not far from the farm, grasslands stretched to beautiful hillsides, its few trees, swaying in the gentle breeze, stood tall and wide. Flowers blossomed amidst the sweet, graceful melody of bluebirds hiding amongst the long grasses. The sound of blue jays, chirping loudly, was interrupted by the sounds of hooves galloping across the fields, and the sound of laughter.
“You’re going to have to go a lot faster than that to beat me,” Demeus shouted.
“You mean like this,” Themeus called back, kicking his stallion’s side, and catching up to Demeus.
Demeus then saw a bulls-eye in the distance, and quickly grabbed an arrow from his quiver, then pulled back his bow. Ready to fire, he felt a gust of wind behind him. Demeus rode towards the bulls-eye to find an arrow already met its target.
“Themeus, you’re too good for me,” Demeus said pausing to catch his breath. “you have a natural talent.”
“I know you feel bad. Say your prayers, and one day you might just beat me,” Themeus laughed.
“Look-towards the east! The castle of Plastil!” Demeus said turning his attention to a stone building far off in the distance.
“Imagine what it would be to be a knight of Plastil.” Demeus wondered.
“I’m not sure...I like my life the way it is,” Themeus replied as they both felt a sudden darkness creep over them.
Miles away from them, the evil warlord Trymissius stood upon an enormous battlefield. Blood-red eyes glared from his painted black face. He held a large, uneven, black sword; a full black robe wrapped around his body. He stood in the midst of many corpses scattered around the field.
Disturbing the silence, there came a rumbling from beneath the soil. Trymissius saw a powerful centaur breaking free from the ground that contained him. Two large, tattooed arms stretched up in the air. A broad face, deformed at the upper-right side, moved both directions, cracking at the neck. His fleshy back leaned backwards, revealing the short, black sheath strapped firmly in place, carrying a short sword, curving at the tip. Gazing in the sky, the centaur sneered, as if to see something in the distance.
He grabbed a red horn from his black belt, pressing it to his lips, he blew loudly. A violent and raspy sound erupted from the horn, drawing other centaurs near.
One by one, Trymissius eyed centaurs’ breaking free from the soil.
“Rugen, old friend, for all the grief you caused me, I swear I will make you pay!” Trymissius screamed, as he gave a sinister smile, then shot a spark from his wand into the sky. “Dearly!”
Themeus and Demeus both noticed a white skull erupt in the sky. Flocks of birds flew hastily away in fear, trees no longer swayed back and forth, and everything fell silent.
“What is that?” Demeus asked.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look friendly.” Themeus replied.
“Do you feel something?” Demeus said abruptly as the ground began to shake.
Meanwhile, Rugen sat quietly on the terrace next to a black-hooded man.
“Look in the sky,” Rugen said to the hooded figure. “Oh-no!”
The wizard immediately rose from his seat, gesturing to the hooded man to accompany him in the fields.
“Feels like and earthquake,” Demeus said as he hurried to his horse. “We should go back.”
“I agree,” Themeus replied also running towards his horse, the ground growing more treacherous.
“Demeus look out!” Themeus yelled as the ground suddenly split , and Demeus fell off the cliff. Falling towards the rocky earth below, a plateau suddenly rose up from the earth and caught Demeus.
“Themeus, get out of there!” Rugen and the cloaked figure yelled as they mysteriously appeared a few feet behind Themeus, both trying very hard to maintain their balance on shattering ground.
“I’ll get your friend,” the hooded man, running towards the cliff. He jumped down onto the plateau and knelt down besides Demeus. “Hold on to me.” The hooded figure, noticing the raised plateau slowly break away from the cliff, quickly jutted to a sharp rock on the wall, grasped it tightly, and hung on to Demeus with his spare hand. The hooded man gradually lifted them both to the cliff’s top. Neighing and kicking, the horses-knowing their way home-quickly ran away in a panic.
“What is that?” Themeus asked. He noticed a circular storm erupting from midair right in front of Demeus. Suddenly, a gruesome, sinister, ghost-like head appeared in the center of the abyss. Opening its mouth, the mysterious figure began to draw in huge amounts of air, lifting both Rugen and the hooded figure off the ground.
“Oh my God!” Themeus shouted, facing the head of what appeared to be a ghost. At that time, Rugen had a vision.
“Themeus! Hold on!” Rugen yelled as his hat flew into the ghost’s mouth. Grasping a boulder, Themeus felt his lower body begin to rise.
“Rugen! I’m slipping!” Themeus yelled, as he felt his arms releasing from the boulder. He noticed himself moving closer and closer to the black hole.
“Themeus!” Rugen yelled.
Gaining control of his staff, Rugen grasped it firmly, and a blinding light shot from its tip, hitting the storm dead in the center. Its ghost-like appearance wailed in pain as the wind suddenly died down, the earthquake came to a halt, and everything was quiet.
“Quickly, get away from here,” Rugen said as the hooded man pulled Demeus to safety. Themeus, Rugen, Demeus and the cloaked figure did not waste time. They hastened to the farm as the ghost-like appearance slowly began to fade.
“What was that?” Themeus asked in horror, “and who is he?” he said, staring at the hooded figure.
“I think I’ve seen enough for one day.” Demeus said
“I think you have too,” Rugen said. “You should head home.”
“All right.” Demeus said. “Bye Themeus.”
“Bye.” Themeus replied, as his friend whistled to his horse.
After Demeus was out of sight, Rugen turned to the hooded figure as his concealed face gave a slight nod.
“My name Cratus,” The hooded figure said, “and I am your cousin.”
“Do you really want to know what that thing was?” Rugen asked.
“You know?” Themeus questioned.
“Yes I do.” Rugen said as he began to head for home, with the others not far behind. The light of day slowly began to fade into a full moon, and Rugen opened his house door to lead the others inside.
“Do you know the story of your father?” Rugen asked as they all sat down at a nearby round table.
“No,” Themeus replied.
“I thought not. Your father died when you were very young” Rugen said, “He was a great man?” Then Rugen hesitated, and the room fell silent for a moment, then, ever so slowly, he spoke again.
“Do you know the story of Trymissius?” Rugen asked as Themeus shook his head.
“He is an evil warlord. He leads the army of hell. Long ago, a war raged between the inhabitants of hell and last alliances of our world. Elves, men, dwarfs, creatures of the deep, birds of every kind-all answered to the call that would decide the fate of mankind. They fought in the most gruesome, bloodies battle ever, the war of centuries, the War of Time.” He explained
“Then that black cloud back there, that was Trymissius?” Themeus asked.
“Not in full body, but yes, it was he. Trymissius in full body would be the last thing you ever saw,” Rugen said. “I want to show you something. Step in front of me,” Rugen commanded, standing to face Themeus. Rugen took his brown staff, and closing he placed the tip of his staff on Themeus’s forehead. Themeus suddenly had a vision. He saw hatred, panic, and fear. He saw black gates next to a wide-open field. Warriors were galloping on their steeds to destroy the enemy. Left and right, people died attempting to slaughter their opponents. Calvary approached with swords in hand, as a man galloped forward, leading his men down an enormous battlefield. Six-hundred strong steeds rode to meet the enemy. Dark hair cascaded down to his neck, and an emerald crown rested upon his head. Silver, laced armor, shimmering brightly in the gleaming sun, displayed his miraculous gold sword.
Great warriors on their mares rode into a pit of darkness, goblin and centaur blades ready to meet the enemy. A skull raged in the sky above them, as Themeus heard the faint cry of a baby. Unconsciously, Themeus trembled in the silent room, his face wet with sweat.
“Themeus, are you all right?” Rugen asked.
“Yes,” Themeus lied. “I saw probably the most fear, terror, and violence I’ve seen for ages.”
“Come, I want to show you one more thing,” Rugen said, motioning Themeus to follow him, along with the cloaked figure. They came to a wall in the hut, where Rugen raised his staff. The wall-like a trapdoor inside-displayed a long narrow hall, its walls painted with pictures. Near the end of the hall, a golden object rested on a stand. Themeus drew his attention to inscriptions below each painting. Beginning at the first drawing, Themeus read its inscription aloud.
“The battle of Cas Tarrar raged on for days. Elves, men, dwarfs, centaurs, birds of every kind, Trolls, goblins, and Minotaurs filled the battlefield. One after the other waves of warriors flew and galloped toward the enemy. The king of Plastil led his men into battle. They killed many, but when Trymissius came into battle, he slaughtered hundreds with his staff and blade, including the king. The battle was a total onslaught.”
“Why are you showing me this?” Themeus asked as he turned to Rugen.
“Look more closely at the king of Plastil.” Rugen commanded. Themeus walked to the next painting, displaying a tall man on a horse, with hundreds of soldiers’ behind him. Wearing a golden crown, the tall man held his silver sword outstretched in his hand.
Themeus examined the black-haired man, stunned and befuddled, he looked at the painting yet again.
“That’s weird, that looks a lot like me.” Themeus said turning to Rugen befuddled.
“That is your father, Demetrian, King of Plastil.” Rugen said.
A long silence fell over them. Themeus did not know what to say, he looked puzzled, and yet horrified at Rugen.
“That can’t be, because…,” Themeus said.
“Demetrian only had one son, one air, one hope for Plastil.” Rugen interrupted, “You’re an only child.”
No, no, that cannot be true!” Themeus yelled. “This heir-that cannot be me. I mean, I am only a farm boy. I can’t be this King of Plastil! How am I royal blood?” Themeus asked looking more troubled by the second.
“It shows through you. I’ve seen it! While you’re working, I see the fantastic effort that you’re making, and your strength is unbelievable,” Rugen said. “I am very proud of you Themeus. You will make a great king.”
“What if I don’t even want to become king. This is all coming at me too fast. I’m not sure I can handle it!” Themeus said, getting angry.
“I know this might be a shock for you, but you must face your destiny as king of Plastil. You must accept the fact that you will be the one who destroys Trymissius. You have that in you. You are not alone. My good friend, Baitamius, and I, are here to help you on your journey,” Rugen said, directing Themeus’s attention to the hooded figure in the corner.
The cloaked man slowly revealed himself underneath the fine material, revealed a blond head above a well-formed and clean-cut face. He had arms the width of palm trees, and a chest both massive and muscular. He wore brown sandals, along with a brown vest. Around his waist, he carried a beautiful sword, sheathed on a leather belt.
“I am Baitamius, Captain of Plastil, and you are my king.” a mighty, deep voice said with honor. “I bring something of great importance to you,” Baitamius said, walking towards a light at the end of the room. He walked on golden tiles which bewildered Themeus. How can a broken down house have golden tiles, he thought. Baitamius picked up a sword and brought it to Themeus, with great respect and responsibility. The long sword resting in his open hands, he spoke proudly, “The sword of your father, King Demetrian.”
The sword had a gold base and was crested with three emeralds.
“You told me he was my cousin!” Themeus shouted in total anger, completely ignoring the sword. “Right now, you tell me I am the king of Plastil! You keep too many things from me Rugen! Any other secrets you want to tell me?” Themeus questioned angrily.
“Themeus, please listen! The reason I kept this from you is because you were too young. There was danger around every corner. I wanted to protect you for as long as I could!” Rugen yelled, his eyes widening with impatience and frustration.
“From what life! From probably the most important thing in my lifetime!” Themeus shouted back, enraged.
“From death! Trymissius is a powerful sorcerer that kills at will.” Rugen bellowed, resisting to now use his staff.
“You know what? I am done with this! All these lies, this protection, you, I’m sick of it!” Themeus burst out, throwing the sword aside and stomped off in a fit of rage. Themeus went outside to think hard. He thought whether the story was true, and if it was, would he refuse to live up to his father’s expectations, why he has to become this long lost king and defeat this evil force? He thought about all of Rugen’s lies.
Themeus sat down on the ground next to the terrace, and noticed a trail of some kind of liquid. It looked like water, but he could not tell for sure. Walked over to see, he knelt down and felt the liquid. He brought his hand up to his eyes and noticed his fingertip was red. The liquid was not water, but blood.
Themeus walked slowly over to the cause of this mysterious trail. It led him to the haystack, behind which lay a body. Themeus started to run quicker and come closer to the mysterious young man. He came to the body, and saw a large, circular, pool of blood coming from his chest. A small skull, engraved in the body’s left fore arm, caused the arm to bleed more forcefully. Themeus found out that it was the body of Demeus.
He immediately knelt down and wept next to his friend. His fingers, clinging to his hair, drew his head down upon Demeus’s chest. As Themeus wept, his friend suddenly twitched his arm.
“Themeus.” Demeus said faintly as he slowly opened his eyes for as long as they would last.
“Demeus, who did this to you?” Themeus asked.
“A man, an ugly man. He wore a helmet, so I didn’t see his face, but I did noticed a dark glare through his eyes.” Demeus whispered. Themeus, looking bewildered, thought hard whom Demeus meant.
“Was it Trymissius? Did he do this to you?” Themeus asked.
“Try-who?” Demeus asked, slowly closing his eyes.
