Sanguine

“The King's dead, then?”
“It would appear so. The reports say that he passed in his sleep.”
Rain softly cascaded across the glass as the car sped toward the darkened city, its wheels spinning furiously. Above, storm clouds roiled and twisted as they loomed overhead, all the while unleashing a torrent of rainfall that engulfed the dark, silent city. Its streets sat barren beneath the towering skyscrapers that dominated the cityscape, and only the cold, pale gaze of the moon concealed behind the clouds was allowed to illuminate the earth below.
“And the city mourns in darkness... how quaint,” said one of the men in the car.
“A rather fitting custom, I think,” said the other. The two men sat in the well-furbished backseat, watching as the buildings flew past in a blur of shadow through the rain-speckled glass. One sat on the right with a cigarette between his fingers and a cell phone in the other, while the man on the left sat with a glass of scotch in hand.
“Have the funerary proceedings been arranged?” asked the man on the left, his voice beginning to waver from the intoxication. He sat dressed in a black suit, letting him blend with the deep darkness of his surroundings.
“They're to be held two days from now.”
“Great,” the other man snorted. “Two more days of nothing but weeping and mourning. I'll be glad when all this is over,” he said as he poured himself another glass.
“Councillor, you know you shouldn't be drinking. You have appearances to uphold and-”
“Appearances? Bah!” the Councillor said as he drank the fiery liquid. “We're in mourning. I can just say that... I'm drinking to Tybre's memory! Yes, that's it,” He poured himself another glass and drank it just as quickly as the other. The other man sighed, shook his head, and put his cigarette out in the ash tray beside him, leaving a tiny pillar of smoke to disperse into the air.
“Does Cadmus remain the heir?” the Councillor asked in a disgruntled tone as he began yet another glass.
“Indeed. The senate's decision was unanimous.”
The councillor grunted. “He's a boy, barely twenty!”
The other man smiled. “You barely know him, unlike myself. He will be a fine king.”
The councillor smirked as he tipped the glass upward, letting the drink run down his throat. “And what of Achtem?” the Councillor asked as he wiped away the droplets that had begun to dribble down his chin.
The other man's smiled waned at the name's mention. “Achtem shall be instated as general once Cadmus is crowned.”
“And what do you think of him?”
The other man paused before answering, then forced a chuckle. “There is no man who would doubt his combat prowess. However, I don't know if he is ready. He's learned much, but...” the man trailed off as he found himself lost in thought.
The Councillor sighed, shook his head, and then leaned back in his seat to wait out the rest of the drive toward the castle. The other man's thoughts dwelled on Achtem as he watched the cold rain spit against the glass and the monstrous, black thunderheads roll toward the shrouded manor that sat far behind the grieving city.

Chapter 1

“Achtem!”
Achtem barely heard the call echo throughout the hall around him as he watched the skies freely weep and thunder roll across clouds rank with gloom. Death pervaded both man and nature, and he gazed mournfully at the piercing black towers that stood obstinately over the breadth of the vast expanse of the city. The towers appeared akin to obelisks, serving only to mark the pervasive, black sense of mourning that the death of a king brought. Achtem shivered as he leaned closer toward the glass, letting his breath crawl and turn to fog against it.
“Achtem!”
The voice ripped him from his thoughts as he turned to see its source. Coming toward him were two soldiers, both garbed in dark uniforms. Their silhouettes slowly came into clearer view as they trotted toward him.
“Achtem,” said the first man. His hair and beard appeared unkempt, though it was difficult to say within the dark halls of the castle. “We've been looking for you! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone in this place, especially now?”
Achtem turned his eyes away from the two men. “Sorry,” he said, the exhaustion in his voice apparent.
The other man spoke up before the other. “King Cadmus wanted to speak with you,” he said, his gruff voice finely complementing his brutish features. “He didn't say why.”
The unkempt soldier kneaded the other in the arm. “He's not king yet!”
Achtem nodded. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to speak with Cadmus. What could he want with me? “Go and tell him that I'll be up shortly.”
The two soldiers glanced at each other, nodded and then turned to make their way once more up the castle. Their footsteps resonated along the silent halls until at last fading into nothing, leaving only the sounds of the storm. Achtem sighed and held his head in his hands, ruffling his ash-grey hair. He could feel his hands tremor as his fingers moved through the strands. He wished that the past two days would simply disappear from his memory, to be nothing more than shadows, forgotten and cast away to fade to ash. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget. He breathed deeply, stood upright, and made his way to meet Cadmus.
Though veiled in a palpable shroud of grief, the castle managed to retain an air of elegance and dignity, even now. The crystal chandeliers above sparkled in the moonlight which shone through the massive glass windows, each shard shimmering with an ethereal glow. The marble floor reflected the moon's dull gaze, and the pillars which sectioned off the castle halls towered over whomever passed them. Passing through the hallways, Achtem found guards to be stationed at various doors and stairways, each garbed in similarly dull platinum armor and hiding behind a pale green mask beneath their helms. As he entered the castle entrance he felt swallowed by the towering painted ceiling above. The castle entrance, a massive steel gate, punctuated the dark walls and electric lights sitting amongst the glowing red conduits that dotted them.
Far across from the main door sat the main staircase with its silver rails and dark-painted balusters. Walking toward it he saw maids, stewards and mourners, each bearing a look of grim sadness, slowly walk past each other with nary a word, going about to clean or to retire to their rooms for the evening. Achtem's boots lightly tapped against the hollow steps as he climbed, disturbing the fragile silence. Making his way through the sea of guests, he slowly moved up the castle, with each floor's population slowly diminishing in size, until at last he reached the fifth floor and found it to be nearly empty.
It's even darker here. How is that possible? The windows were completely sealed, severing the entry of even the smallest glimmer of moonlight. The only exception was that of a small, jar-sized aperture that stood perched above one of the larger windows, quietly emanating a round, luminous beam which pierced the thick gloom. Age-old documents and files lay scattered across the floor, leaving specks of dust to dwell aimlessly around him.
As Achtem made his way through the immense darkness he heard footsteps slowly move toward him. He squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust, until finally seeing a shadow come into view. As it moved closer, its form slowly congealed into a more familiar shape.
“You outta go, he's waiting,” the shadow said as it came into view.
Gaius stood garbed in light armor with a dark red scarf around his neck. His face, though plain, made him look younger than his nineteen years. His brown hair came down to his eyebrows and curled to the left of his forehead like a cat curled in its bed. He stopped beside him, his green eyes reflecting in what little light there was.
“How's he doing?” Achtem whispered.
Gaius shrugged. “He'll hardly see anyone. You're the only one he's asked for.”
“He wouldn't even see you?”
“Not even me.”
Achtem sighed. Why me? He scratched the back of his neck, thinking. “Wait for me downstairs?”
Gaius smiled and nodded. Achtem had known him for only two years, but the three of them had become fast friends. They did everything together, from sparring to racing.
Achtem walked further down the hall until finally coming to a large wooden door, guarded by two other soldiers, each marked with the symbol of the Cura, the royal guard: a circle with two lines on the sides and one running through the middle. They glanced over him, immediately recognizing him, and turned to let him pass. Achtem passed between them and lightly tapped on the door.
“Mmm?” he heard Cadmus hum through the door.
“It...It's me.”
A long pause followed, until the voice on the other side muttered, “Come in.” Even through the door Cadmus's voice dripped with melancholy. Achtem opened the door, listening as it groaned with age until revealing the inner chamber, a cold, dark hole with walls lined with hastily emptied bookshelves and extinguished lights. The floor lay littered with papers and letters, each bearing the imprint of soldiers boots. Across the room, sitting in a red leather armchair, was Cadmus. His golden hair shone brightly in the cold moonlight illuminating through the enormous glass window above the empty fireplace, but his face appeared white and long. His clothes were wrinkled and showed blotches of dust, and his swollen red eyes lay bare his sorrow. As Achtem walked toward him he saw Cadmus turn his head, a small, sad smile growing on his face.
“It's about time you came,” he said as he fiddled with a loose string on his robe.
“...You shouldn't be held up in here,” Achtem said not unkindly.
“What else am I to do, go down and mourn with the rest of them?”
“You're going to be their king.”
Cadmus didn't respond, instead motioning toward a wooden rocking chair in the corner. It creaked and smelled of dust and rotted wood. Pulling it over, he leaned himself into the seat, praying through the groans that the splintered old wood wouldn't give way under him. Thankfully the chair held, and the two of them sat in the darkness, in silence for a long time, watching the rain pound against the window. Finally, Cadmus spoke.
“I never thought it was possible for him to die.”
Achtem didn't say anything.
“He was always there for the both of us... and now he's gone.”
“And you'll be king.”
Cadmus forced a light chuckle. “That I will.”
“You'll be a good king, a great one. I know you will.” Achtem smiled at him.
Cadmus turned to look at Achtem. His expression asked if he was joking, but he realized the sincerity. He reached over and put a hand on Achtem's shoulder. “And you'll help me, won't you? You'll be with me?”
Achtem struggled to hold his smile. “Yeah... of course.”
Cadmus withdrew his hand and receded into his chair. “I'm glad that, at the very least, you'll be at my side.”
Achtem didn't answer. They sat and silently watched the rain wash over the glass and the clouds flare with thunder as the evening turned to night, until finally descending into sleep beside each other.

Chapter 2

Achtem slowly opened his eyes to see the castle halls stretch out before him, slowly shifting from side to side like a ship swaying with the ocean waves. Looking around, he saw himself surrounded by thick fog, a cold haze that veiled the air. Above, the ceiling ceased to exist, replaced instead with a deep, impenetrable darkness. Achtem gently lifted himself from the chair, squinting his eyes as he peered through the gloom, waving his hands and letting the cool mist pass between his fingers. His footsteps echoed on the cold marble and reverberated downward along the hall, until being lost to the fog's silent aura.
As he walked, the hall shifted beneath his feet, causing him to walk with a drunken gait. Going further, he began to hear voices; silently at first, but slowly rising in volume with every step.
Increase the dosage of oxycodone.
He's slipping in and out of consciousness.
He barely sleeps without pain.
He can barely even see.
He's hasn't got long.
The more the voices raged around him, the closer the light moved toward him, and the faster its pulse became. As the light came closer, the hall around him began to darken, until finally the path behind him became engulfed in a deep, palpable blackness. Achtem moved closer and closer, his pace slowly increasing until he found himself running toward the light. They raced toward each other, ahead of the deafening darkness, until at last the light came to him, stopping directly in front of him and morphing into a solid wall with a large wooden door in the middle. Achtem listened, looking around, and finally pushed the door open to find a massive room veiled in dark. He hesitantly stepped inside, and with each step the darkness began to recede, replaced instead with the dull, pale glow of the lights above. Walking further, a familiar scent wafted past his nose, like that of a rotting corpse. As the light continued to reveal his surroundings, he saw a massive bed come into view, large enough to hold at least six or more people. Wires and medical equipment loomed over it like guardians, and the sounds of their analysis echoed in the silent room. Slowly, Achtem saw a pale figure resting in the bed, one he easily recognized. He lay flat on his back, his head resting on a pillow, dressed in a stained silk nightshirt. His eyes sat on his face like depressions in a sidewalk, and his face appeared tired and drawn, but his hands still seemed strong and sure. Achtem felt a chill run through him as he remembered.
“I'm... sorry I'm late.”
King Tybre Lucis slowly opened his eyes and turned to face him. His eyes had turned a light grey from the onset of cataracts. “How is Cadmus?”
Achtem rubbed the back of his neck. “He's fine... he's helping sort through the documents in your study.”
Tybre nodded. “Sit.”
Achtem obeyed, pulling a chair from the corner and setting it beside the bed. When he sat, neither spoke for a long time.
“Your studies under General Argus... how are they?” Tybre finally said.
“They're almost finished,” Achtem said glumly.
Tybre nodded and then rested, letting his head sink into the pillow before being struck by a coughing fit. His barks echoed in the spacious room, starkly piercing the silence that had plagued it. After some minutes he was able to calm himself and settled. For some minutes, the quiet beeping of the medical equipment was all that could be heard.
“The doctors... what have they been saying? About my condition?”
Achtem didn't answer.
The King snorted. “It's worse, isn't it? Damn liars.” He burst into another coughing fit that lasted for several minutes. When he finally settled, blood began to drip from his mouth. Achtem walked over to the nightstand, bringing over a glass of water that he brought to Tybre's lips. The king drank it greedily, then leaned back onto his pillow.
“Thank you,” he sighed. More time passed before he spoke again. “I do not have long for this... this mortal coil. This sickness... I can feel it moving through me, like a snake through water. I can feel my lungs tighten with every breath, and my eyes fade further with every word I speak. My bones turn to dust before me, and my thoughts wander farther and farther away from me... even now.” He turned to Achtem. “How long has it been... since you came under my care?”
“Eighteen years now,” Achtem said flatly.
King Tybre nodded. “I remember that day. Your father was... a good man. He didn't deserve to die the way he did. Sit me up, will you?” Achtem leaned over and gently helped lean Tybre against the bed-frame, allowing them to see eye to eye. The king grunted in thanks.
“When I first took you in, to live under my castle walls and learn beside Cadmus, I worried that the both of you would hate each other. I'm glad I was wrong.” His eyes softened slightly, faintly shining in the dim light. “You have been both friend and brother to him, and I...” he said as he trailed off. Achtem waited, wondering what he more he was to say, but the words never came.
“Achtem, beside the nightstand, in the corner there. It's something I had made for you.”
Achtem looked to see a long, slender package leaning in the dark against the stand that stood with one end opened. Taking it in hand, he gently undid its restraints to find a scabbard inside, with a sword's blade gleaming from the end.
“It's blade is unyielding,” the King said through raspy breaths. “Just as its wielder must be. Use it well.”
Achtem held the sword to the light. It was a beautiful sword, constructed with impeccable craftsmanship. The hilt guard surrounded the handle, it's metallic build dimly shimmering in the light, and the blade itself seemed freshly forged, its metal divider seeming to slice the blade part-way in two. Sliding his thumb across its edge, he found the blade to be fiercely sharp. He didn't know what to say.
“Keep it sharp and clean,” he said through breaths growing shallow from exhaustion. “Use it to keep Cadmus, and Restam, safe.” His eyed glazed over until he fell into unconsciousness once more. Achtem sat still, the sword laying still in his lap as the dark silence enveloped him. The medical equipment disappeared from view, as did the carpet, the shuttered windows and the bed, leaving Achtem and the King lying down, deep in sleep. The darkness coiled around them, and slowly the fog began to encroach once more around them. Achtem watched it pass across them, enveloping everything. He looked up, expecting to see only more fog, but instead saw something else. Descending from the darkness was a glowing object, fluttering in the air. As it descended, he saw that it was a feather, glowing like pure sunshine. It fell slowly, daintily, until becoming level with his face. It stayed for a moment, as if pausing in time, and then floated away into darkness and fog.
And Achtem opened his eyes.

Chapter 3

The heavy downpour had turned to a light shower with the onset of day, allowing the smallest rays of distant sunlight to pierce the grey, looming clouds. The rain spat against the glass window of the study as Achtem awoke in his chair, his arms folded and his legs stretched out away from him. The room had grown cold and smelled of the early morning, the fine scent of consciousness and dawn. He turned to see Cadmus sitting fast asleep, his right leg stretched outward and his left knee caught at an angle in the chair, his golden hair mussed and slightly plastered to the leather seat. It was the most at peace he had seen him since he learned Tybre died.
Achtem rose carefully, making sure not to make any sudden noises, and sauntered out past the guards, still standing at attention by the door in their green masks and curved metallic helms. He made his way back down the castle steps, careful not to let his footsteps echo too loudly, and walked toward the castle entrance. Attached to the walls were small conduits, each one connected to a light by a wire and attached with a small, glowing red vial. The scarlet liquid flowed freely through the conduit, awaiting the moment when the switch would be flipped and it could return power to the electric lights of the manor and city. When powered, and the halls darkened, they set the halls alight with a pale, pulsing red light as the magic surged across the city, feeding its lust for light.
Achtem walked to the front entrance and waited for the awaiting guards to push open the mighty steel door. They hurriedly heaved against the door as it groaned open, revealing the morning dawn to the manor's inner sanctum. The light was blinding after so many days of grey clouds and dark halls, and he raised his hand above his eyes and stepped outside.
The terrace opened to greet Achtem as he set foot on the tiled stone floor, causing the sound to echo across the open area. It terrace stretched across for fifteen meters, and its sides extended even farther, wrapping itself around the still-darkened manor and surrounded by a stone railing. Tables and chairs dotted the surface, standing ready for Cadmus's crowning ceremony to be held in three days, and bright green trees, each standing only a few meters in height, surrounded them. He walked up to the railing to see the city standing in its glory as the morn rose. The sun's rays cascaded over buildings still wet from the night's storm, and what had looked like thick, hulking monoliths in the night were now normal, the glass windows beginning to shine dully in the light.
Another day, Achtem mused as he gazed at the city. He moved on and made his way toward the terrace's edge, leading to a stairway that opened up to the road, which itself stretched from the manor, through the city and beyond to Tevet's borders. From a distance Achtem could see the manor in full view as the dawn shined upon it. Placed upon a massive shelf of stone and rock, its massive body precariously hugged the outcrop, yet somehow both the stone and manor managed to hold. The manor itself, composed of brick, stone and timber, was still wet, with small rivers of water dripping from the roof and gutters. One could also hear the sound of fountains spewing water by the stairs edge. One could also hear the sound of Gaius humming to himself as he leaned against one of the larger bushes.
“It's about time you came down,” he said as he turned and walked over. “I was waiting forever!”
Achtem sighed. “I fell asleep.... and you should be in the barracks.” He started walking, and Gaius followed close behind.
Gaius smirked. “What? I'm just with the General! No harm done!”
Achtem looked toward the city. “You shouldn't call me that... yet.”
Gaius shrugged. “Anyway, I feel like a bit of sparring? Wanna go at it?”
Achtem shook his head. “Maybe with Cadmus. It would help him feel better.”
Gaius, beginning to fall behind, quickly sprinted to catch up. His armor, compared to Achtem's long black coat and clothes, weighed him down and noisily moved wherever he went. “Well, where are you going? Maybe I could tag along?”
Achtem shook his head again. “You can't just leave. You need to stay here. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the city.”
Gaius grunted in response. “Fine... see you later.” He sauntered off toward the castle, heading to the guard barracks where all the other soldiers slept. Achtem made his way down the road toward a small bend, where a garage lay struck into the rock. Carefully unlocking and lifting the door, he turned on the light to see it: a motorcycle, a beautiful vehicle that glistened in the artificial light. Its wheels were surrounded by blackened metal, with the cylindrical exhaust sitting beside the back-most wheel. Achtem loaded himself onto the black leather seat, and set his foot onto the gas pedal. Kicking back the stand, he gently eased pressure onto the pedal. The engine sprang to life beneath him, gently purring then roaring as he pulled from the garage and onto the road toward the city.
The road pulled away under him, slowly unraveling and twisting behind him as smooth concrete turned to cracked asphalt. The road turned and dived in small hills, and the sun's full rise was beautiful to behold on the cool morning. The motorcycle's constant purr beneath him as it sped toward the city, the low rumble, the quiet bumps and jerks as it went over loose pieces of gravel and soil and fresh tire tracks; Achtem loved it, every second. He breathed in deeply, drawing in the cool morning air inward and exhaling, allowing it to turn into mist and fade around him as he sped further on, and on and on. He felt free.