NOVEL NEXT Chapter 42: "Discord."
Barthlomeu, Melissa's own flesh and blood, had long harbored a burning desire for power. He watched the shadows of the throne room dance on the walls as he spoke in hushed tones with his trusted ministers, Isiah and Bo. The two were as different as night and day, yet together they formed a formidable trio. Isiah, with his sharp intellect and silver tongue, could charm the very snakes that adorned the walls of the realm. Bo, on the other hand, was a brute force, his hulking form a living embodiment of the chaos that reigned in the hearts of the demonic hordes.
Together, they had uncovered whispers of a being that could shift the balance of power. In the distant lands of Qliax, a being of untold power was rumored to have emerged from the abyss, a child born of a union between a mortal and a minor deity. This being, they believed, could be the key to their ascension.
Their eyes fell upon a map of Avaricia, the mortal world above, where the rumors spoke of a divine lineage. "We must find this so-called demi-god," Barthlomeu hissed, his eyes gleaming with malice. "With its power, we could not only claim the throne but reshape this world to our will."
Isiah nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "The ancient texts speak of children born with the Pledge of Birthright, beings capable of bending the very fabric of reality." His gaze shifted to Bo, who nodded in silent understanding, his fists clenching in excitement.
Barthlomeu's grin spread wide, revealing the sharp points of his teeth. "The time has come," he declared, slamming his fist upon the stone table. "We shall not wait for the second wave. We will make our own destiny."
The two ministers shared a knowing look before bowing low before their would-be king. "As you wish," Isiah murmured, his voice as smooth as velvet.
In the mortal realm of Avaricia, Castrol, stood before the tavern door in Sovereign. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the stoic figure of Martin, the burly man who had been loyal Tobias. Castrol had come seeking an audience with Barley's charismatic 'leader', Tobias Kingg, whose reputation for supposedly leading the refugees of Barley had spread like wildfire.
"You cannot pass," Martin's voice was firm, a wall of unyielding resolve. His hand balled into a fist, a clear indication that he was not to be trifled with.
Castrol's eyes narrowed. "I seek an audience with your 'savior'," he spat out the word as if it were a curse. "Why would you stand in the way?"
Martin's gaze didn't waver. "Tobias Kingg is busy rebuilding a future for those who have suffered," he replied. "His time is precious, not to be wasted on the likes of you."
The whispers grew louder in the street, a mix of curiosity and fear. Their confrontation had attracted a crowd.
Arteus stepped in, his hand still resting on the axe. He had heard the rumors, the whispers that had been weaving through the town like a serpent since the first refugees had arrived. They all knew that Tobias Kingg had been in Sovereign long before the rest of them, that his arrival had been no coincidence. His intentions remained as murky as the shadows he seemed to inhabit.
"Move aside," Castrol's commanding tone cut through the street's murmurs, his eyes fixed on Martin. The man's presence was a stark reminder of the chaos that had once gripped Barley, of the fear that had driven them to the brink.
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Martin said calmly, his stance unyielding. "Tobias is not to be disturbed."
Castrol's eyes flashed with irritation. He was used to his commands being met with obedience, not stoic refusal. "You dare to deny me?" he growled, his hand tightening into a fist as well.
It was then that Arteus stepped forward, his eyes locking with Castrol's. "Let me take it from here," he said, his voice as calm as a still lake. "Let me, meet with Tobias."
Martin's gaze flickered to Arteus, then back to Castrol. For a moment, it seemed as if he might argue, but then he stepped aside, allowing the boy to pass.
It appears, at the least, that Martin still sees a use for the boy.
The tension in the tavern grew palpable as the two men stared each other down.
Arteus felt the weight of a hundred eyes on him as he made his way through the crowded room, the whispers of the townsfolk following him like a dark shadow. He knew they still saw him as the hero of the Barley, the young man who put his life on the line time and again for their safety.
The tavern was a maelstrom of emotions, fear and hope swirling together like the smoke from the dying embers in the hearth. The priests stood at the end of the room, their robes a stark contrast to the rough-hewn walls and the earthy scent of ale. They were an island of calm in the storm of humanity, their eyes unreadable as they scrutinized him.
Arteus approached the table with the same determination that had carried him through his battles thus far. The priests looked at him, their expressions unreadable behind their holy vestments. They knew of his journey, the trials he had faced, and the truths he had uncovered. They had heard about it all the moment the second procession from Barley made land in Sovereign.
Their eyes, filled with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, scrutinized him as he stepped closer to the man they had chosen to follow. The room grew quieter, the whispers of the townsfolk fading into the background. The air was thick with anticipation, as if everyone present knew that this meeting would be pivotal to their futures.
The priests, robed in garments that shimmered in the candlelight, exchanged a knowing glance before standing in unison. They stepped aside with an air of solemnity, revealing the figure of Tobias Kingg, who sat at the far end of the table. He was a man of average height, with a presence that seemed to fill the room, his eyes piercing and sharp like a hawk's gaze. The shadows played across his features, giving him an otherworldly quality that sent a shiver down Arteus's spine.
Tobias looked up from his goblet of wine, his gaze lingering on Arteus before he offered a curt nod. "Please, take a seat," he said, his voice a rich baritone that resonated in the silent room. The words hung in the air, a silent challenge that seemed to echo through the tavern. Arteus felt the weight of the moment as he approached the table, the creak of the chair seeming to echo through the room like a thunderclap as he sat down opposite the man who had captured the hearts and minds of the refugees.
The air between them was charged with unspoken words and unanswered questions. "Indeed, we have much to discuss," Tobias began, his eyes never leaving Arteus's. "Your journey, your battles, and the whispers that follow you." His words were as precise as a scalpel, cutting through the tension that had settled like a thick fog.
Tobias took a sip of his wine, the corners of his mouth twitching into a cheeky grin. It was the kind of smile that suggested he knew something that others did not, something that made the hairs on the back of Arteus's neck stand on end.
-To Be Continued-