Prologue
The evening air whisks past the stony hall of old age and into the open doors of the vacant rooms. The servants paid no attention of the said doors as they are walking in a fast pace and a few commands has been shouted in the wind. A stable boy who was reequipping the horses' saddles, had thought of steaming potato soup awaiting him in his home, and looks at the window— far beneath the sky is the moon, full and shining its glory.
King Balor of Bethmoora, was seen pacing to and fro with his right hand on his back. Anxiousness was written all over his face. He was terribly cold, his coat cannot hide him from the unmerciful bitterness, and the situation tonight did not help ease his mind. Gilkrim has told him, many times, which he must be calm. The Elven King did not mind him, he would have responded that he too had been like this and even worse, passed out, but decided to ignore the blasted man and continues to his pacing and the worries did not go away. And her cries did not make him feel well.
"Balor!" Not at all.
He could only stare at the large door and contemplates to wreck it. He could not do it as he was useless inside there if he did. He could only wait.
"Would you look at that, Your Grace?" He heard Gilkrim's astonished voice, and he looked at the way his pointing as a means to distract himself.
"A full moon."
Indeed it is, vibrant and lovely. The King stops in his tracks and sensed the overpowering feeling in his gut. The imagery before him somehow calmed him, yet a foreboding awareness has set his body stiffen as he does not notice the cries of his beloved becoming louder and louder...
Then it stopped.
"This is not good."
"How so?"
"The blood circle has arises!" The shrill voice gave a shudder, "It is an omen, Jinnin, a bad one." The old woman covered her non-blind eye with her right hand. The horror in her face did not leave, "Chaos is soon upon us."
King Balor of Bethmoora ordered everyone, except for the midwife, to leave the room. His voice loud and sad. His eyes fixed on his lady wife's form —even in death, she is still beautiful. He gently caresses the smooth surface that was her cheeks now turned to sumptuous stone. The room gave out a damp atmosphere and King Balor had felt the wind no more. His lady wife must've endured the heat and pain.
"She did splendidly, Your Highness, and it is not a light matter to give birth to babes. She was strong." The midwife said and as he looks at her, she nodded her head as if to answer the unspeakable question, "Twins. Their hands were intertwined together when they were born, Your Highness." And indeed they were. The King had seen it, their tiny hands were linked together as if they didn't want to be separated, the midwife had gently pulled them and thus only the babes cried. She set them on the crib and laid them together, the wailing stops.
The King's eyes gave a grave meaning, his eyes on the window— to the moon, "I shall give you the authority to care for them and supervise them at all time."
The old midwife nodded her head and curtsies, but deep down she knows the hidden intention, it cannot be prevented, she knows of it.
The bond will only grow stronger.
The young elf had stepped outside the stable when he breathed the cold air. Only then he set his eyes above to where the fluorescence is.
His body stood rigid at the sight.
The full moon's light has changed. The pure flare was absolutely different, and in its place illuminated a red glow. A somber appearance that is both beautiful and hostile-looking. He remembered what his old mama had told him when he was but a youngling.
The young elf shivered at the memory of the story and went to his home, where his bowl of potato soup lays on the table.
