The Last Kingdom – Prologue
The crisp morning air blew through the trees sending the autumn leaves flying around. Down the path two brothers walked along each other after having spent all night walking through the woods searching for their way home.
"Mother will kill us, when we get back." The older one of the two said.
The boys continued walking until they stumbled upon a site no human eyes had witnessed for many centuries. Across the forest there was a clearing, leading towards a bluff overlooking the crashing ocean, and atop the cliffs was an enormous white mansion. The boys hadn't noticed it before; they looked at each other in confusion. A wicked smile began to form on the older boys face as he looked at his little brother.
"Hey Peter, I'll give you Five Pounds if you go in there." The older brother said.
Peter didn't want his brother to tease him so he went inside without the slightest concern. He climbed up the steps, walked up to the front door of the mansion and pushed the gigantic door with all his might. As the door eventually gave in and opened, Peter fumbled into the dark empty mansion. He stood there for a second listening to the silence, studying the shadows and corners of the immense building. Then he noticed something. There was a book lying on the floor. He slowly walked up to it and picked it up. As he picked it up he felt something he had never felt before; he felt energy surrounding him, and for a second he thought he could hear whispers speaking to him. The book looked ancient so he slowly opened it and began to read. The book took him to places he could never have imagined it made him feel like an eternity was passing by him. He read tales of knights who became gods; heroes who would slay creatures of darkness, and ordinary girls who became queens, but most important of all; he read of a king. A king of a world that was vast and wide, where humans, animals and creatures of the strangest nature co existed. A world full of kingdoms where heroes were born; a world of hope and wonder. A tale of a world that fell, and was forgotten; a place where time stood still, and evil would rule until the time the champion would return.
Peter awoke with the book clutched in his hands like it always was. He tossed and turned in bed thinking of the day he found the book and how since that day he would dream of the world every night. His mind was being haunted by the nightmares of what had happened that day. Peter remembered leaving the dark mansion to find his brothers mangled body. Peter remembered running down the path as the cold icy snow splattered against his face; he remembered hearing echoes of damned souls whispering in his ears. Peter remembered finding the place where his home used to stand burnt to the ground.
Peter was then taken into an orphanage when he was ten, and lived there until he was eighteen; he then got recruited for the British army. He decided to leave England and move to America after having served in World War II. He had nightmares about the war; those to him where the good nights. The stories in the book for some reason became nightmares in his mind, but he could never let the book go; he always felt the urge to have it with him as if it were his only line of defense against something much worse than a dream of darkness.
One night as he walked down the chill, foggy piers of Manhattan he felt as if something or someone was following him. His dark brown hair stood up as a chill ran down his core. He then heard a gun cock and he quickly turned around to look at the man behind him holding a gun.
"Give me your wallet!" The man yelled shaking in fear.
Peter stared blankly at the man and began to walk towards him. In fear the man pulled the trigger and shot Peter square in his chest. At that moment for the first time Peter felt free. He let his body fall towards the water where his corpse would sink to the bottom of the ocean along with the infernal book. In his last moments of life he saw his family and remembered the stories he had read that day, and as if a great veil of darkness that engulfed him had been lifted from his soul. Peter Lockhart died with a grin on his face and hope in his heart.