#alethion

He stepped back and turned to look up at the palace. Smoke clawing its way out of the windows and escaping towards the sky. On one of the open towers wires were being stung up between the pillars; with a lurch in his stomach Marcellus realised they were wings, cut from fallen soldiers.

And he knew.

The king was dead. Damien. His ruler. His friend.

And if Damien was dead then…

He felt his knees start to buckle. There was no way Maximus alive. He would have sacrificed his life defending Damien. Or lost it trying to get vengeance, justice, for his death. There was only himself and Jasper left. His family… At least Evan wasn’t here.

Evan.

Before he realised he was moving, he found himself rushing towards the nearest gate. What was there left for him here? His mother? His brother? His friends? All of them dead.

He pulled himself between two houses as some of the invading soldiers walked past. There was no way he would get out of the kingdom before they closed the gates.

He needed a horse.

-----

Evanelle awoke to the sound of screaming. She grabbed her nearest jacket and rushed out into the hall, freezing outside Daléth’s room. Her heart stopped.

She flung the door open to see Daléth on his bed, laying on his stomach. A few servants who had heard his cries stood watching him. Or rather, watching the blood dripping from his back.

“Why did no one wake me?” She tried to keep her voice steady as she hurried over to Daléth’s side.

“Our apologies, you grace, King Cedric told us not to disturb-” One of the women started to defend herself.

“In future, when my son is in any pain you have my permission to wake me.” She turned back to Daléth, placing a hand gently on his head. “I need a bucket of water, a cloth, and a comb.”

She pulled a chair up next to the bed.

“Now!” She startled the servants into scurrying out of the room.

As they brought the items to her, she stroked Daléth’s hair, the sweat from his fever making it stick to his forehead. She rubbed the damp cloth gently over Daléth’s back, the skin now stretching and bulging outwards as the bone of his wings attempted to break through.

Daléth’s hand shot out and grabbed onto hers. She was struck in this moment of how much he looked like Damien.

“Well I guess this means Mark’s rich now- ah!” The young prince gritted his teeth together.

He was laying on his stomach, the blood running down his back dripping onto the sheets.

“Damien, you shouldn’t try and talk, you’re in a lot of pain.” Evanelle was sat at his bedside, she leaned over to brush Damien’s hair out of his eyes.

“But think about it. How much gold do you think he’ll get, Elle?”

“The sort of people who would bet you’d never grow your wings don’t strike me as the sort of people who would honour their word, brother.”

“Still. I bet it would be enough for him to finally take you out to dinner – ow.”

“Don’t say ‘ow’, I lightly tapped you.”

“Yes, but remember, I’m in a lot of pain.” Damien smirked.

How Damien had managed to look smug in that moment was beyond Evanelle. Most of those descended from Erron would get their wings when they went through the early years of adolescence, the later they came through, the more it would hurt. Evanelle’s came through when she was twelve. Damien’s didn’t come through until he was seventeen.

Daléth was only eleven, so, thankfully, it wouldn’t be much longer before his wings finally broke through.

And it wasn’t. Only a few minutes later Daléth was sleeping, while Evanelle washed the blood out of his wings and began combing them. She had only ever done this for Damien, but she found herself easily cleaning and straightening the feathers.

She was finding the act relaxing, but then again anything would feel relaxing right now compared to seeing her son in such pain only a few moments ago.

But then, she lifted her gaze, her eyes caught movement out of the window, and she saw it. A beacon of red lighting up the forest around it. She dropped the comb and walked over to the window, blinking hard, willing for the sight to be an illusion. A hallucination from her lack of sleep.

It wasn’t. She could see people, mostly the palace guards, gathered outside, watching the flames.

Why weren’t they moving? Why weren’t they helping? Why hadn’t somebody told her? That was her kingdom, her home. Her home was burning, crumbling into ash and dissolving into the sky.

Damien. Marcellus. Maximus. Her mother. Cynwise. Aria. Issak.

Were any of them alive?

Daléth mumbled in his sleep and she shakily sat back down, picking the comb up off the floor.

The people here knew. They knew. They knew and no one had said anything. She needed to go, she needed to leave Daléth with someone she tursted, she needed to get her weapons and-

The door to the room burst open and Evanelle instantly drew herself up glancing around for anything she could use to defend herself.

“We don’t have a lot of time.” The figure said.

Evanelle knew that voice.

“Ava? What are you doing here? Cedric said he’ll be able to clear you name soon, you shouldn’t be-”

“Cedric’s said a lot of things lately. Something’s wrong with him. Something must be controlling him, forcing him to do these things. He would never hurt anyone, Evan. I know my little brother, he wouldn’t…”

“What has he done. Ava, you’re not making any sense.” Evanelle found herself shaking.

“I don’t have time to explain, we need to-”

“I am not taking my son anywhere unless I know what is going on.”

She matched Ava’s determined gaze. She couldn’t risk moving Daléth, not unless she had no other choice.

“Cedric’s not going to clear my name, Evan. He’s the one who set me up. He poisoned our brother, and tricked everyone into blaming me. I heard him taking with you cousin, Lucius. And you know the that poison was the same one that killed you father-”

“Cedric did not kill my father-”

Next was Toreth, tall and muscular, with short brown hair and dark eyes. He was born out of the earth, and from his great strides the world shook and trembled below his feet. He was the first of the Aléth to create life. He raised the first humans from the earth just like he was, and there was a fierceness in their souls and a passion in their eyes. They quickly grew to be the most populous race, settling all across Aléthion. Though they had the shortest lifespan of the Aléth’s creations, this allowed them to shape the world with ideas and practices from each new generation.

Third was Niriel, one of the tallest of the Aléth. He had a lean figure and long white hair that shone like silver in the sunlight. He had a fondness for nature, especially woodlands, and would often retreat there to ease his mind. He saw gender as being fluid like water, and some days would prefer to be called a woman, and others a man. He pitied the short time humans spent on the earth compared to themselves, and thus created the elves. They took after him and made their homes in the forests, some intertwining their buildings with the trees. They kept mainly to their own land, although to some their solitude seemed as though they thought themselves to be better than other races.

After Niriel came Kuldoh. While he was short in stature, he had broad shoulders with a powerful frame. He was hard-headed, steadfast and stubborn. He was quick to anger and with that first sharp, vicious burst, a bolt of lightning cut through the sky, and as it hit the mountains the first dwarves were born. Most chose to stay in the rock and stone, as they felt there they would be closest to their creator. But some did choose to settle elsewhere, and their ability to craft and create was admired by all.

When these four had been created, Eal knew more would follow. He knew they would need leadership, but wanted to leave to let the world run its course. So he created Deisos. His skin was incredibly pale and his hair and eyes were the darkest black. Scattered across his kin are deep black markings, spiralling patterns that peak out from under his robes. His purpose was to lead the Aléth and would also be the one tasked to kill them if they ever put the world in danger. He represented justice, and so Eal made him unable to fall in love, so he could never be swayed from his duty.