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Simurg 2	By : Cynthermes Category: A through F > The Cronnex Series Views: 1375 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The Cronnex and its characters solely belong to Trewin Greenaway and no profit has been made out of this fiction.

Chapter List
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CRASH!
The useless piece of Mythral shattered against one of the moonstone clad pillars of the Hallowed Halls.
Enubi fumed childishly as he stomped his feet and flailed his arms in an obvious display of displeasure.
“How dare you! How dare you destroy Enubi’s puppets!” The child of Chaos hollered in rage. Apparently he had lost his most favorite alchemist toy. Enubi was planning to use Naedas to perform resurrection rites in hopes of reviving Maerdas.
His plan would’ve been perfect if it weren’t for some former Nithaial messing with the entire process.
And the irony was Niccas had the closest encounter with Maerdas and both bore the arcane name of Elimiel in different timelines. They were also the fiercest of foes, so why was he surprised that Niccas… no Cind’rikh interfered once again to keep his nemesis in eternal sleep.
Speaking of sleep… Enubi glanced at the slumbering figure gracelessly seated on the Lunar Throne. Gesryma didn’t even stir when the mythral produced a terrible smashing noise echoing within the palace. The goddess had been in deep sleep since the Lunar Eclipse marking the turning of the Great Wheel in the Opposing One’s favor.
Well, no matter, he thought darkly. The goddess was now molten gold in his palm, malleable and easily swayed. Once he had control of the godhead, or goddesshead rather, the rest was simple. He just had to stop languishing over some trivial loss and put the other puppets into action.
It didn’t matter if his opponent was a godling. His time for egg-hood is drawing near anyway.
Zeleo felt the rush of the cool night air against her fine-looking face and amber tresses fixed in a small circlet braid. Her graceful form merged well with her steed as the horse galloped, raced, and strutted safely avoiding protruding tree roots of hazel trees. She guided her travel companion as they moderately ascended the hillsides.
The enchanted forest was hostile to intruders particularly at night but she seemed unaffected with the ominous lilac mist surrounding the mystic woodland. She often used this place as a sanctuary when admirers would go looking for her in the palace or the city square. But in this occasion she was here with a purpose.
Unbeknownst to the ‘sheep herd’ or the populace, the former was an epithet she then referred to the apathetic, ignorant lot; the hilltops were an excellent view to watch peculiar activity from their ‘neighbor’.
Just a few leagues away from the enclosing border of the city gates, a foreboding sight caught her attention the first time she slipped away from the palace guards in horseback at the age of ten. A high grotesque tower stood looming over the horizon. It was an abandoned tower during the last war according to the folks she asked when she was younger but she knew it was a lie.
She spent most of her free time locked up in the ‘Restricted section’ of the library, reading and skimming through texts of the old letters. She also hid the fact from the scholars, high priests and priestesses that the ‘prince’ knew how to read the ancient tongue of the old kingdom. The mage Orien, disguised as one of the scholars became her secret mentor at the age of seven.
She then discovered that most of the words coming out of the scholars and religious’ mouths were nothing but bushels of untruths. The tower looked unkempt, old, and ready to fall in the morning but during late night the magnificent view of the hilltops reveals a sturdy cultist or fanatic’s tower of the Ishman Faith.
The renewed kingdom of Loquatrea recognized the Ishman Faith as the official religion when she claimed victory over the last war and returned glory to her house of kings baring the Goddess Gesryma’s protective emblem in their war flags. She was one of the war commanders herself; young as she was and naught but a few strong soldiers knew it was because of the solidarity of the people that they revived the pride of a kingdom. The Loquatreans were proud agnostic rider-warriors. This sibling clan to the hrosbyre of Lhennad believed more in the free will given to them by the gods. But ever since Zeleo’s elder brother was made king, the structure of their monarchy started to change. The Ishman High Priestess shared the power with the ruler.
Back to the present, the crown of the tower gave off wild sparks of red light she then thought as hellfire on land. Now she knew this was rubedo, the concluding right of a successful transmutation. Do they even have alchemists up there? She wondered. This phenomenon had been increasing in frequency after the lunar eclipse. She thought if there was some connection but remained doubtful. After the red light gave up the symbol she had been waiting for, (An ellipse) it dimmed and completely faded. She carefully headed for the trail leading back to the rear bridge of the palace.
Zeleo held the reins and rocked the steed with her rider’s leather boots. Regnantia neighed and trotted carefully in descent. She barely made it to the clearing when she became aware of unwanted company. Being Regnantia’s rider since ten summers, Zeleo was familiar with her horse’s gait, be it a strut, a gallop or a dash. The rustling of the trees against the wind didn’t hinder the sounds of foreign hooves crunching against dead leaves, twigs or rocky soil.
She was clearly being tagged. Deciding it was now or never, the soldier prince pulled the horse’s reins into a halt. The mauve mists surrounding the clearing, thickened and three hooded horsemen emerged through.
“Entry to this sacred place is forbidden.” A gruff masculine voice came from one of the mysterious riders.
“Pardon me, but I didn’t see a sign let alone a marking stone that says entry is denied.” Zeleo countered though her left hand was ready to unsheathe her claymore hidden beneath her long black cloak.
“How dare you talk back you insolent woman!” The same man who spoke before spat and commanded to his companions, “Teach this one a lesson!”
Was it the howling of the wind or a strange melodious sound mingled with them? The prince didn’t have time to find out for the horsemen gave a shrill cry of pain.
They transformed before her topaz-colored tyger’s eyes. They tore off the rough spun cloaks around their now dark fur-covered bodies with their claws and fangs. Then the next second they charged towards her using their powerful hind legs.
With clear precision the first beast that managed to reach her was nearly torn in half with her sharp exposed broadsword. She swung in a high curve with the double-edged weapon to shorten recovery time making the two furry creatures to somewhat back away.
The mists suddenly thickened making her lose sight of the remaining pair. Tonight was a full moon so she didn’t bother to bring a lamp with her. But that didn’t mean she came unprepared. Zeleo hastily dug her guarded hand on a pouch strapped to her belt. She procured a bluish firestone and struck it against the claymore creating a sapphire blaze. Her weapon of choice quite resembled the flametongue or the fire sword in legends.
The soldier prince used the heat from the sword to dispel the mists. A flash of luminous eyes alerted her of their approach. They cleverly attacked on both sides. She caught the one in the left neatly with her sword but the other managed to latch its teeth on her leather arm guard.
She distraughtly tried to shake it off before it could pierce her flesh while her steed neighed in fright. The furry creature didn’t budge and then attempted to go for her unprotected throat.
Its fangs were merely inches away when the mark at the base of her neck gleamed blue light sending the creature flying away. The beast knocked against a burly tree and whined unconscious. Zeleo breathed heavily afterwards. That was the first time she was caught off guard by a beast no less! They are apparently cleverer than she thought. Perhaps it was the strange illness dulling her reflexes.
The soldier prince quickly put out the fire with a soft incantation, sheathed the sword and dashed towards home. She placed her near brush with death at the back of her mind when she arrived at the stables. She dismounted the horse wordlessly, thanked her for the ride and handed the reins to the stable boy. “What’s the matter, my lord? You look wan and troubled.”
Zeleo ignored Ulmer, the stable boy and headed silently towards her bedchambers.
She abruptly felt very exhausted. With every full moon following the eclipse she had trouble sleeping. Her mind always felt separated from her body and the latter was becoming a source of annoyance. Her skin on her back itched much often now and the worst place was situated at the base of her neck. Yet her careless omission to wear that collar incongruously saved her life.

She was now itching for a bath, determined to burry the encounter and to keep the nightmares at bay. The rider unfastened the clasps of her leather boots; let her cloak drop on the carpeted floor followed by her leather armguards, warrior garb, trousers, chest binder and linen wrap.
A personal servant took the clothes silently and bowed before leaving. Zeleo stood entirely nude against the moonlight as she fumbled at the ribbon binding a handful of her hair in a braid. The knots came loose and she placed the strip of velvet on the dresser. Her wavy amber tresses reached up to her waist and as well kempt and soft as they were they are becoming a hindrance in battle. She planned to do away with them soon.
The pleasant aroma of the steaming tub called to her fatigued frame. Yet the moment she submerged half of her body she suddenly hissed in pain. She immediately stood up spraying water on the marble in the process.
“My lord prince!” The personal servant exclaimed seeing Zeleo’s raw back glowing with blue incomprehensible runes.
Ugh, the halfwit! She shushed her before she could wake the entire palace with her banshee-like squeals. The prince beckoned her to come forward and hand her a mirror.
“I’m very sorry, Your Highness, I was just shocked to see…”
“Quit blathering and please hand me the mirror.” Zeleo cut her off as patiently as she can muster. And when she viewed the reflection of her back, her tyger eyes widened. Indeed, her back resembled a canvass, freshly painted with shimmering perplexing symbols.
“Worry not, my lord prince, I will keep this secret safe with my life.” She vowed quickly making amends.
The said prince assented and tried to soothe the smartness of her raw skin. This time the bath oils dulled the sting and she was finally able to complete one of her night rituals. She emerged relaxed and calm from the confines of the bath and while her servant bid her goodnight she padded towards the direction of her bed.
She was unusually cold and indifferent to the servants. The change of her mood was probably due to his brother’s earlier morning proposal. How dare he put her fate in his hands! She was a freewoman and royalty no less! She didn’t climb the ranks and earned the respect for a man hence her title just to be betrothed to some high priest!
Her fisted hands trembled in rage. Even their late father, wouldn’t approve of this! Zeleo tried to calm her harsh breathing and quelled the thoughts of bloody murder for her scheming brother. She was just getting temperamental and she craved the much-needed sleep.
The plans to consult Orien and the anticipated bitter argument with her brother were her last rumination before she drifted off.
With each stroke of the oar against the calm but murky waters of the river, the barge accompanied the slow rush of the waters with a creaking noise. It was dark as night and grey-greenish mists swirled around the shadows of what appeared to be thousand-year-old trees. The ferryman pealed the hood away to reveal amber-red tresses and resumed working with the oar.
The barge passed through a high magnificent arch reaching up to the skies the young ferryman couldn’t see. Then in the distance, two gargantuan statues of young Elfin-like men carved into mystic stone appeared. He looked up in awe at the two figures poised to pounce on each other: to fight or the contrary? He didn’t know and diverted his tyger eyes to the mighty adamantine gates.
The gates opened on their own accord as the barge approached and the ferryman continued on until the waters carried him to the wharf. He stepped out of the barge and a blue sprite greeted him politely bowing its flaming head. “Good evening Lord Astoreth, the lord, Absolute Astral is waiting for you in the grand chambers.”
The blue sprite accompanied him until the base of a flight of spiral and suspended stairs came into view. It stretched all the way up and again the end couldn’t be seen from below. Without another exchange of words, the sprite disappeared and Astoreth began to scale the steps.
At the topmost step stood closed doors blazing with blue flame. Astoreth hesitated before a voice, brazen and echoing beckoned him to enter. At the touch of his fingertips, the double doors swung open but there was only darkness inside. “Don’t be afraid Astoreth, enter.”
Having no sense of self, Astoreth followed the voice and stepped in. A pair of invisible arms embraced him. He cringed, the embrace felt hot and cold at the same time. And when the hands pulled away his cloak fell to the unseen ground and he stood naked and vulnerable… at the mercy of the Absolute One he couldn’t see.
He suddenly felt afraid and uncertain. Again that deep voice lowered in a soothing purr, “I’m not going to hurt you. Have you forgotten? Our touch? Our ways?”
Astoreth backed away, but the unseen one grasped his wrist unwilling to let go. “Remember our ways…” That hand pulled him forward and another hand traced the blue markings on his back and he hissed. “And come back to me.”
Zeleo woke up gasping. Her back was on fiery pain and she bolted out the bed ripping her bedclothes in mad haste. By the time she managed to shed them, she inspected a nasty burnt hole at the cloth covering the skin of her back.
The personal servant found her crouched on the carpeted floor clutching the cushion at the foot of the bed tightly. “My lord prince! What’s—” She stopped at close inspection of the same glowing runes.
“C-Call for the scholar… Orien… and quick!” Zeleo managed to speak out before groaning in pain.
The servant dropped her load of linen and hurried off to obey the command.
The prince gritted her teeth when Orien applied more cooling salve to soothe the smarting. “You should’ve called me sooner, my lord.” The clawed hand she was very much familiar with gestured on the runes.
“Can you understand the symbols on my back?” Zeleo asked with a relieved sigh. The soothing salve was working wonders on her sore rear.
“Unfortunately I don’t my prince. But there is someone I know who can comprehend the language of negative magic.” The mage answered thoughtfully.
“Who is he? I need to speak with him.” The prince said eagerly.
“He is an herbalist called Miermi but now is not the time. I will personally travel to bring him to you, Your Highness but until then you have to stand your ground against the schemes of your brother.” The mage finished wrapping the gauze to hide the runes from view.
“Ah, that conniving bastard! I’ll shovel a pile of horse dung in his mouth if he doesn’t call off this blasted betrothal!” Zeleo swore with a sudden burst of anger.
Orien merely chuckled and stood up. “I’m afraid I have ‘to leave’ my lord prince.”
“So soon?” She asked.
“The least I wait, the better chances I can send you his presence. He lives way down south and might take me weeks, or months to reach him.” Orien explained.
By the time she remembered her strange dream, the mage was already out the door.
The angry tramp of her leather boots echoed loudly within the throne room.
“Why good morning dear sister, I was just about to have an audience with you.” King Schtefan greeted her as she approached.
“I won’t dally about the matters that brought me here so early in the morning. I came to call off this ridiculous matchmaking you’re perpetuating!” The prince spat without an ounce of discretion.
“What? No ‘good morning, brother’ for me? How sad.” Her brother said mockingly and clutched his chest as if in pain.
“What do you wish to gain with this… political arrangement?” Zeleo demanded glaring at her lazily lounging brother on the throne.
“Easy, Sister. This marriage will benefit our kingdom greatly. With your contribution, the kingdom and the Daughters will be one powerful monarchial structure. Maybe in the near future, we will even expand as an empire!” The king now stood up and theatrically exclaimed while his hands were outstretched high into the towering gilt ceiling.
Zeleo merely snorted at his pompous display, “And lose our heritage to a mere religion?”
“A mere religion? You don’t speak that way to the Queen Goddess, Prince Zeleo.”
The black prince knew that incredulous voice quite well. It belonged to a woman whose being was filled with both unmatched pride and prejudice. She was the High Priestess and self-proclaimed incarnate of the Blessed Gesryma, Nassazia.
She didn’t bite her tongue this time. They have gone too far. “This audience is only for my brother and I, Lady Nassazia, so why tarnish this with your presence?” The prince didn’t even look her way. The strange dream coupled with the slight smarting of her back made her disregard even civility. She didn’t want to hide her resentment any longer.
“I see that those masculine garments and time spent in the army roughened your feminine manners so.” Nassazia remarked sarcastically.
This was better, much better than her usual pretentiously kind dialogues.
“That is why I have the title of Prince, Lady Nassazia or did that information slip past from that lovely mind of yours? So maybe I can safely presume that it is you who suggested this rubbish to my brother?” Zeleo finally turned her tyger eyes on her who slightly gasped at their dangerous intensity.
For a while, Nassazia couldn’t speak. Those eyes frightened her so, they were not like anything she has gazed upon. They were deep golden in color and more frightful than a demon king’s eyes. Yes, more frightful than that particular demon she met once in her youth. That particular memory caused an unwanted shiver ran past her spine.
Well, that effectively shut her up. The black prince hid a triumphant smirk.
“I remembered I have highly important matters to attend to.” The High Priestess briskly excused herself and fled from the throne room.
Schtefan sighed as the front door creaked shut. “Must you be so straightforward with her? You ought to possess a little courtesy when speaking with the goddess incarnate.” The king reprimanded without really meaning it. He must’ve been amused to see the look on the High Priestess’ face when confronting the black prince.
“Says the king who didn’t defend the said incarnate.” Zeleo snorted but was smiling a little. The clear motives of his brother now out in the open made her less infuriated. But that didn’t last very long when the king restated his matchmaking proposal.
“Hmph, it’s such a shame she’s a little easier to manipulate but nonetheless sister, you still need to comply with my request.”
“More like an order.” The black prince narrowed her eyes again but the ruler didn’t flinch. Schtefan met her gaze evenly with a raised brow as if to challenge her.
“You may want to get to know him first before the wedding. His name is Ormaël and he is also the older brother of the High Priestess.” The king said very sternly and watched her like a hawk about to snatch up its prey.
The black prince was slightly intimidated but didn’t let it show. “I assure you, dear brother that he would rather marry the horse than its rider.” And with that bitterly spoken, Zeleo stormed out of the royal chambers.
“Heading out for your morning ride, my lord?” Ulmer looked up from the pile of hay he was shoveling for the other horses in the stable.
“Yes.” The black prince replied and mounted Regnantia after petting her mane.
“Please be careful in the woods, Your Highness. I heard rumors that monsters appeared there last night.” The stable boy advised in warning and the prince paused mid-tug at the reins.
“Who told you there were monsters in the woods, Ulmer?” Zeleo faced the boy.
“One of the high priests who goes by the name of Ormaël, my lord prince.” The stable boy answered quickly. Zeleo now cannot simply ignore Schtefan’s proposal. If this high priest knows something about the anomalies within the Daughters then it was up to her to investigate.
“Where can I find Ormaël?” She asked tersely while her hands itched to urge Regnantia to a full sprint.
“I believe in the Grand Temple of the Blessed Gesryma, Your Highness.” Zeleo was grateful for the rich supply of answers coming from the stable boy. After thanking him, she and her steed dashed away through the palace gates and into the direction of the woods.
“She thanked me… Maybe she isn’t as cold and distant as they said she is.” Ulmer muttered to himself and sported a little blush.
The black prince had never felt infuriated so early in the morning. But a ride with Regnantia in the dewy sunrise always calmed her distraught nerves. She just didn’t know why that wasn’t taking effect right now. Perhaps those nightmares were getting frequent, coupled with the inexplicable pain on her back that was now more than just a nuisance. The black prince raced through the short mountain pathway and headed for the plains of the Lhennad.
It was deserted now. The place they once called home was nothing but the plain sight it was. There were no wooden houses or roaming horses that galloped around with their riders on patrol. There were no hardworking farmers plowing the field for wheat or barley. The old and simple life simply vanished. What remained was a shrine dedicated to the ancient line of totemican kings who can shape-change at will into a mighty eagle or magnificent stag, she once read in old texts.
She jerked when she felt the cold rough stone against her palm. What brought her to this place anyway? And yet she suddenly found herself at the entrance of the old shrine.
“What is the king’s sister doing here?” A rather arrogant masculine voice inquired behind her.
Zeleo immediately whirled around to face her arrogant companion. There stood a tall mature-looking man with dark brown hair and sharp obsidian eyes. He walked towards her with a stern expression on his face. “Do I have no right to visit the forgotten homeland of my forefathers?” She lifted her chin in challenge.
To her surprise he chuckled in amusement. “So the rumors were true. The black prince is formidable though in truth she is a woman.”
“Are you insulting me? It is rude for a stranger to speak his views without even stating his name.” She gave him a fierce glare and his mask of arrogance quickly disintegrated. “I apologize for my lack of respect, Your Highness. My name is Ormaël and I simply wanted to get to know you better.” He gestured to take her hand for a kiss, which she blatantly ignored of course.
“Don’t try so hard Ormaël but don’t push your chances either. I believe my brother has spoken with you about this ridiculous matchmaking already, before me?” She had the grace to lower her princely armor altogether.
“Gauging from your intonation, my lord prince you don’t sound very pleased.” The warlock allowed a little smirk to show.
“And you don’t find my reaction troubling either.” The prince observed equally amused. “Which makes me think you’re not attracted to the idea of marriage either.” Or attracted to a woman rather. She sharply guessed and she felt quite satisfied he did not know what she did.
Abruptly the air tingled strange on the black prince’s skin.
An ominous feeling crept up her spine and she instinctively reached for her sword. The warlock beside her stiffened as well noting the odd change in the atmosphere. The wind blew a cold howling sound and the feeling of being watched or hunted pervaded their both strangely sharp senses.
A shrill sound sliced through the sickeningly stagnant air and Zeleo found the grip on her claymore wavering. Her knees trembled and her chest tightened as a strange overwhelming sensation of weakness washed over her. What was this mind-numbing feeling?
“We lest retreat my lord prince.” Ormaël’s voice sounded hazy to her right. But the warning and danger in it was prominent and she felt his hands on her shoulders steadying her.
Out of perhaps the remaining shreds of her pride, she struggled out of his grasp and stubbornly held her weight. “I can very much take care of myself.” She hissed and saw him raise his hands in a placating gesture. But his eyes still spoke of caution and a stern fragment of his suggestion a while ago remained.
She knew they were in danger or at least her instincts were aware but from what? What was there in broad daylight that she can’t handle? She was about to step closer on the edge of the hill to have a better view past the slightly dense cluster of trees and down the plains that stretched beneath. What she saw made her blood curdle and she froze on the spot.
A hundred of cattle-sized two-legged beasts covered in rusty red fur with dirty yellow tusks and horns covering their entire head like a crown had their flashing golden eyes menacingly on her. They were steadily advancing uphill in an arc formation but there was something they were emitting that threatened more danger than their possible chances of physical attack.
They were snorting a visible greenish smoke that mingled with the air and ultimately morphing it into an ill-omened mist.
“Don’t you see? The more we spend time dallying here, the more we inhale the gas. It’s going to kill us before your blade can even swipe a single strand of their fur.” Ormaël insisted as his arms dangled helplessly at his sides while his face was averted to the side with a tight expression comparable to dread.
“Where else can we go? I’d rather die fighting than running away like a coward!” And as if to emphasize her point she started to reach in her cloak to the pouch attached to her belt. She had a bit of difficulty grasping around for the blue firestone within the pouch for her hands were getting more and more rigid like they were made of stone themselves.
“We’re going through the shrine.” His hands finally stopped hers and tugged them away from her weapons. “I know a secret passage that will get us back to the kingdom.”
“Sheer foolishness!” The war commander spat angrily. “We’ll lead them straight to our people!” Truth be told, the reason she hated fleeing to the confines of the shrine was because of her horse tied up on the lower opposite side of the hill. Regnantia was too broad to fit into the entrance of the shrine.
It seems the black prince knew what she was doing. The last traces of doubt and lack of confidence on Zeleo vanished in Ormaël’s mind. But he also knew that there was only so much they can do before the Strykul would do irreversible fatal damage in their mortal bodies.
A flash of blue slightly from above ripped him away from his musings and he gaped at the wielder of the blazing flametongue. “What on earth!”
“What? You’ve never seen a torch sword before?” She gave him a smug grin and the warlock blinked. He had never met a woman so willfully arrogant that boasted equal skill… the latter part he has to see for himself soon.
“What do you intend to do with it?” Ormaël watched the prince twirl the flaming claymore around in a circular motion much like how a jester wields a baton. He was even more amazed how she can do so with a lethal speed that might have burned the fingers of an inexperienced soldier.
Zeleo didn’t answer and continued to twirl the heavy sword. Her actions started to become hypnotic in the warlock’s eyes. With each full-circle the blue torch sword made, a strange magic (or was it alchemy? He wasn’t certain) started to occur. Unknown to both the concealed marking on the black prince’s neck glowed at the same time a permanent circle became etched on air.

The Strykul were almost on the hilltop. Their proximity, the growling and snapping of jaws threatened to shake the prince in her concentration. But in spite of her fear, Zeleo held onto the teachings of the greatest mage that ever lived. This was Spellblade at its finest and she wouldn’t allow her teacher’s efforts go to waste.
By the time the beasts had them nearly cornered, their nerve gas was dissipating. Ormaël could almost breathe fresh air once more. But they were hardly out of danger yet.
A blur of rusty red suddenly sprung up. The beasts finally understood that their subtle assault failed and moved in for the more physical attack.
However if the beasts’ thought the Spellblade was made for their gas emissions they were seriously mistaken. Zeleo quickly pierced the center of the circle and a blast of wind came through it shooting the incoming beast away like a canon ball and it tumbled dead against its companions.
Ormaël became swiftly aware what the azure symbol in the air stood for: AIR.
For every beast that came too close to the black prince, they had their breath knocked out of them, literally. Now he knew why this woman of a prince is highly feared and respected throughout the kingdom. She is a war goddess that made swordsmanship and magic collide.
One after the other, the Strykul seem no match for the warrior prince until the warlock’s knees gave out, and the fear he furiously fought back came crashing back in. Ormaël suddenly collapsed in Zeleo’s presence, startling the prince when he thrashed and screamed.
With the wielder’s concentration broken, the Spellblade circle faded leaving the pair vulnerable once more to harm.
The Strykul gave off loud chilling howls and another sound accompanied their victory call. It was a melody too fine for a beast to produce but the prince was too distracted to even distinguish it.
Claymore and firestone forgotten, the crouched prince was unaware that two beasts lunged in for the kill.
Zeleo turned too late, amber ringlets whipped aside when an open-jawed Strykul had its sights on her barely instinctive arm raised to defend herself.
The painful contact never came for a flash of blue swiftly deflected the furry red counterpart. Another beast, this time much larger than Regnantia covered in silvery blue fur emerged out of nowhere and roared threateningly against the remaining Strykul. It appeared to be a huge blue wolf the size of a commoner’s house and as tall as two men put together.
This time with the panic receding, Zeleo heard the peculiar tune of last night play in stark contrast to beastly noise. Astonishingly, the Strykul flee and disappeared through thick trees of surrounding forests.
Then before her, the silvery blue beast started to reduce in size. She gasped in shock when she came face to face with a man with blue skin, silver hair down to his waist, russet eyes narrowed in scrutiny and with a trace of… accusation. “Ormaël!” He went passed her and quickly knelt beside the unconscious warlock. The black prince then came to realize she had just met a Familiar.
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