The Phoenix soul: A legend Arises

CHAPTER 2: SKEPTICAL KINGS

The grand throne room of the Valtorian Kingdom echoed with the booming laughter of King Valtor, its rich tapestries and polished marble reflecting the vibrant sound. The monarch's robust frame and fiery red beard seemed to radiate warmth, but his eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Valtor, his robust frame and fiery red beard commanding attention, rose from his throne, laughter booming through the hall. "What did I tell you, Lyrien, about bringing me bad news?"

"And you're talking about the weakest of the three brothers," Valtor continued, his eyes wide with incredulity. "A thousand men? You can't be serious."

The councilors chuckled and whispered among themselves, but Lyrien's expression remained grave.

"Sire, I swear on my honor, he—"

Valtor's laughter ceased abruptly, and with a flick of his wrist, flames erupted, singeing Lyrien's armor. "Lyrien, must you test my patience in my own throne room? I hate hurting people."

Lyrien stood firm, unfazed by the blast. "He flew, sire. Unaided. And his power... it's unlike anything I've seen."

The throne room fell silent, the weight of Lyrien's words hanging precariously in the balance. Valtor's gaze never wavered, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of intensity.

"Conquering the Dragon's Spine Mountains proved futile, didn't it?" King Valtor's voice dripped with disdain. "The South remains elusive. Let's redirect our focus east and west."

Commander Lyrien stepped forward, his tone cautious. "Sire, consider the other brothers' unexploited potential. The Kyrovians, though outnumbered, possess cunning and strategic advantage. Their mountain strongholds provide natural defenses."

Valtor's expression darkened. "Enough!" His foot lashed out, striking Lyrien with a resounding thud.

Lyrien winced but continued, undeterred. "We must acknowledge their capacity for resistance, sire."

Valtor's face reddened. "What do you propose, then?" he thundered, his gaze sweeping across his advisors and counselors. "I will claim those lands by force. Present me with a viable strategy!"

The room fell silent again, the weight of Valtor's demand hanging heavy in the air.

"May I speak, sire?" Marley asked, his voice low and calculated.

Marley's twisted features, a map of cunning and ambition, curled into a sly smile. His face was a labyrinth of scars and wrinkles, etched from years of intrigue and backroom politics. His eyes gleamed with a knowing intensity.

Valtor nodded, his gaze fixed on the advisor.

"Speak, Marley," Valtor commanded, his eyes narrowing at the advisor's calculating tone.

Marley's twisted features curled into a sly smile. "Sire, I propose a multi-pronged assault. Deploy troops east, west, and, daringly, south, targeting the Dragon's Spine once more."

Valtor's interest piqued, he leaned forward.

Marley continued, "Lyrien's account suggests the prince's unorthodox methods caught our men off guard. Though effective, they won't suffice against our revamped forces. We'll unleash new strategies, war machines, and an overwhelming surge of soldiers."

The room fell silent, weighing Marley's bold plan.

"The previous failure," Marley said, his voice dripping with conviction, "was merely a reconnaissance in disguise. Of the thousand Valtorians sent, 156 returned, bearing valuable lessons. This time, we won't be caught off guard."

Valtor's eyes gleamed with intrigue, his massive fist clenched in anticipation. "Proceed, Marley. Outline the specifics of your plan."

"That's very good of you, Marley," Valtor said, a hint of approval in his voice. "Now, let's begin. No time to waste."

With a swift motion, Valtor marched away, his massive frame commanding attention. The room erupted into a flurry of activity as advisors and counselors scrambled to prepare for the impending campaign.

—

The City of Kyrovian

Prince Thrain entered the throne room, Ryker's lifeless body borne on his shoulders. The somber atmosphere mirrored the Valerian throne room, but with a stark contrast in warmth.

King Arin's eyes clouded with sorrow. "Alas, Ryker's fallen. A good man, and a noble trainer." His voice trembled.

Thrain gently laid Ryker's body before the throne.

"We've won this battle," King Arin continued, "but Valtor's ambition won't rest. We must prepare for the inevitable."

The king's gaze swept across the assembled warriors. "You are all dismissed."

No words of praise or gratitude escaped his lips, no acknowledgment of their bravery in defending the Dragon's Spine. The abrupt dismissal hung heavy in the air.

As the room emptied, King Arin's focus narrowed to his son. "Thrain, we must speak." His tone hinted no emotions.

The door closed, leaving the king and prince alone amidst the weight of unspoken words.

—-

King Arin's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "I expected your demise, Thrain. Yet, reports indicate otherwise. You've awakened, and your abilities are... impressive."

He paused, studying Thrain with an unreadable expression. "Flames and flight. Abilities typically reserved for high-level warriors. Explain what happened in the mountains."

King Arin's tone remained detached, analytical, as if assessing a strategic asset rather than addressing his own son.

"Speak!" Arin commanded, his voice devoid of empathy.

Thrain hesitated, then whispered, "I don't know how I did it. I can't even remember."

Arin's expression twisted into disgust. "I should have known better. Once a loser, always a loser."

His words dripped with venom. "If not for the testimonies of those who witnessed your feat, I wouldn't have believed it. The only person you managed to kill is the one who loved you most —Ryker."

Arin's gaze repelled his son. "Get out of my sight!"

Thrain's footsteps echoed as he departed, but Arin's venomous words pursued him.

"You only kill those good to you," Arin spat. "Your birth was a costly one... a grave price paid, never forgotten..."

Thrain halted, his back still to his father. The candles in the room flickered, their flames surging momentarily.

He turned, his eyes locking onto Arin's, a piercing gaze that silenced the king.

For an instant, the air was heavy with tension.

Then, without a word, Thrain turned and walked out, leaving Arin's malice hanging in the darkness.

The door creaked shut behind him, a stark separation from the toxic words that lingered.

As Thrain exited the throne room, his brothers, Cormac and Hitel, intercepted him, their smirks mirroring each other.

"Hey there, hero," Cormac sneered.

"I heard you awakened and single-handedly defeated an entire army," Hitel added, his tone dripping with mockery. "How the impossible became possible."

Thrain's annoyance flared. "Leave me alone."

He turned to walk away, but Cormac snatched a handful of his long hair, yanking him back.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Cormac snarled, his grip tightening. "I'm talking to you, shithead."

Hitel stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Yes, tell us, Thrain, how did the weakest of us manage such a feat?"

Thrain's eyes blazed with anger as he struggled against Cormac's grasp.

Without turning, Thrain lifted his leg in a swift arc, kicking backward with precision. His heel connected squarely with Cormac's groin.

Cormac crumpled to the ground with a pained groan, releasing Thrain's hair.

"Ugh!" Cormac writhed in agony.

"You bastard!" Hitel snarled, stepping forward, his fists clenched.

Ryker's training had honed Thrain's hand-to-hand combat skills, but facing two brothers trained by masters posed a significant threat. Thrain's lack of abilities made him vulnerable, yet his agility and quick reflexes remained.

"Don't worry, I won't use my ability," Hitel sneered, confident in his martial prowess.

The two brothers clashed. Hitel unleashed a flurry of punches, but Thrain dodged each blow with ease. His speed and agility proved too much for Hitel.

In a flash, Thrain landed three swift strikes on Hitel's face. The first shattered his nose, the second split his lip, and the third sent him stumbling back.

Hitel's eyes widened in shock, his vision blurring. Thrain's counterattack had caught him off guard.

Cormac, still writhing in pain, watched in awe as Thrain's movements became a blur. His brother's speed and precision were unprecedented.

Hitel charged forward, fueled by rage and embarrassment. Thrain sidestepped, using Hitel's momentum against him. A perfectly timed kick sent Hitel crashing into the nearby wall.

The sound of Cormac's pained groans and Hitel's labored breathing filled the air. Thrain stood tall, his chest heaving with exertion.

For a moment, the brothers' taunts and mockery were replaced by a grudging respect. Thrain's hidden strengths had finally surfaced.

But the silence was short-lived.

Thrain gazed at his hands, bewildered. His speed had always surpassed his brothers', but this was unprecedented. A slow, satisfying smile spread across his face, his first genuine smile in ages.

"What? Had enough already?" Thrain taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Hitel spat blood onto the floor, clutching his shattered nose. "Get up, you fool!" he yelled at Cormac.

Cormac struggled to his feet, his face twisted in rage. Together, the brothers charged at Thrain.

This time, they managed to land a few punches, but Thrain's reflexes were uncanny. He anticipated every move, countering with precision.

With a swift elbow strike, Thrain crushed Cormac's chest, sending him stumbling back. Hitel's fist connected with Thrain's face, but he barely flinched.

Thrain retaliated with a knee to Hitel's stomach, doubling him over. Cormac rebounded with a vicious hook, only to meet Thrain's knee cap, which sent him crashing into the wall.

The brothers' faces were bloodied, their movements growing desperate. Thrain, however, remained composed, his scratches minimal.

Hitel lunged, but Thrain sidestepped and delivered a devastating elbow to his brother's spine. Cormac attempted a tackle, only to find Thrain's knee waiting for his chest.

The sound of grunts, crunching bone, and heavy breathing filled the air. Thrain's brothers stumbled, their strength waning.

Thrain stood tall, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing with an unspoken warning: don't underestimate me again.

Hitel and Cormac exchanged a wary glance. For the first time, they saw Thrain not as the weakling they'd always known, but as a formidable force.

"Enough," Thrain said, his voice firm, his smile gone. "Leave me alone."

Hitel and Cormac turned to depart, but their exit was halted by the sight of maids peeking from the doorway, their eyes wide with awe.

The brothers' faces twisted with concern; gossip would spread like wildfire. Their family's reputation couldn't afford whispers of Thrain's sudden prowess.

Without warning, Hitel and Cormac unleashed flames at Thrain, their eyes blazing with fury.

The inferno engulfed Thrain's face, but instead of scorching his skin, the flames hovered, suspended mid-air.

The fire danced, casting flickering shadows on the walls, yet Thrain stood unscathed.

Neither quenching nor spreading, the flames seemed trapped, unable to harm or consume.

Thrain's expression remained impassive, his eyes piercing through the fire.

Hitel and Cormac stumbled backward, terror creeping into their faces.

The maids gasped, hands covering their mouths.

"Impossible," Hitel whispered.

Cormac's eyes darted toward their father's throne room, fear of Arin's wrath etched on his face.

Thrain's gaze never wavered, his voice low and even.

"Leave."

The flames dissipated as suddenly as they appeared.

Hitel and Cormac fled, the maids scattering in their wake.

Thrain stood alone, his face illuminated by the fading light of the flames.

His thoughts swirled, seeking answers to the mysteries unfolding within him.