Chapter One
Age: 9
I groaned as I keeled over, breathing hard. Sweat dripped off of my nose, and down between my shoulder blades. I looked up to see the larger boy grinning.
"Not a fighter huh?" He grinned. I looked up at the looming figure that held the large wooden sword. I pushed myself up off of the ground and launched another blow at the boy, who easily leant out of the way. My momentum carried me along, where I tripped over my feet and crashed into the floor, my body rolling across the stone slabs.
"Are you even trying?" He taunted me once more. I growled and shoved myself up, swinging the wooden sword at him ferociously. He brought up his practice sword and blocked each blow in a swift motion. He eventually snapped his blade around my arm and launched the hilt into my stomach. I groaned, grabbing my stomach and wheezing for air. I knelt down onto the floor, coughing into the slabs.
"Children." He scoffed. "No strength whatsoever."
I snarled at him and launched again, this time trying to mirror his defensive techniques, blocking each offensive blow he launched. Eventually, he shoved me backwards, forcing me to roll backwards and land on my stomach, the practice blade still firmly in my hand. The boy laughed and began to twirl around his practice sword while walking back to a few other boys, who all matched his fine attire and boots. I pushed myself up, looking at my torn trousers, blood escaping the grazes on my knees. My lips began to tremble at the stinging pain. I brought my knees up, putting my head into them and sobbing quietly.
"Tenebraeus?" The sound of my mother's voice made me quickly wipe away the tears with the back of my hands. "Are you crying?" She asked, crouching down and placing an arm around me.
"No!" I snapped quickly, facing away so she wouldn't see my red eyes.
"Let me see." She said, gently turning my face back to see her. She sighed, seeing my red and swollen face. "Titus always does play rough..." She sighed, catching sight of my bloodied knee, and beginning to wipe it clean with her handkerchief.
"Why does he always pick on me?"
"Because he's older than you." She explained to me. "The strong can choose to prey off the weak. The rich will choose to feed off the poor. It's the way of the world." I paused to think about this.
"Should I feel bad about it?"
"About what?"
"Being better than them?"
"We're not better than them Tenebraeus." She explained. "All the difference is just money. But, by being here, we can help change things, we can help people." This made me feel better.
"We can?" She bit her lip.
"Promise not to tell anyone Teneraeus - this is a big secret." I nodded eagerly. I loved secrets, especially ones from my mother. "You father is trying to convince the Emperor to allow the worship of Talos." She smiled. I didn't really understand what she meant, but her smile told me it could only mean something good. "He could stop a war. Your father is a hero." I smiled. My father - the hero. I knew he was often sen as a war hero - the greatest swordsman in Cyrodiil, but my mother saw him in a different way - a man of freedom. He was her hero.
I smiled.
"Can you show me another one?" I asked quietly with a smile, earning my mother a concerned look. "Please? I promise to be careful." I promised. She mulled it over.
"Okay - but promise not to try it until I say." She said. I nodded eagerly, awaiting her actions. She outstretched a closed palm, and slowly opened it, a small burning flame planted firmly above her palm, burning brightly. I beamed at the sight - I loved my mother performing these tricks. She had always said I had her magic, since Titus had inherited our father's strength - not to say I wouldn't become stronger, just not possess the strength of a dragon like him. She closed her hand, the flame extinguishing a second before her hand was fully closed. I looked at her, amazed. "Come, let's see your father. Tell him about what Titus has done this time." I gulped, and followed my mother to my father's quarters.
"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" My father asked sternly. He held a dominating presence, partly because he was wearing his general's armour. Titus and I stood with our heads hung low. "Titus?" He asked. Titus said nothing. "Tenebraeus?" He turned to me. His overbearing presence forced me to look down at the floor still. "You're both going to be men soon." He took a pause, looking between us both with disapproval. "Fighting. In public!" He shook his head. "I expected this of you Tenebraeus, you're only young... but you Titus?" Titus' gaze was fixed on the floor. "Now, go outside while I talk to your brother." He said with a deep breath, Titus turning around on the spot and exiting the room.
As soon as Titus had exited the room, my father began to relax, sitting in his chair, his features softening. He took a deep sigh and touched the bridge of his nose.
"Tenebraeus, you must stop fighting with your brother." He said to me sympathetically. "Brothers are not meant to fight."
"But he makes fun of me." I said lowly, my gazed still directed at the floor.
"A soldier's greatest strength is his ability to endure." He reminded me - Titus and I had grown up with my father's code - one that, in his opinion, applied to everyone in the Empire: nobles to soldiers and royals to beggars.
"But I can't endure." I finally outburst. "I'm not a soldier..." I said, upset by the fact I would earn a disapproving look from him now.
"Tenebraeus, not everyone is meant to be a soldier." He said, stepping out of his chair and kneeling down in front of me, hand on my shoulder. "The world needs diplomats as well, perhaps even more so than soldiers."
"But you're a soldier." I said, only to have him respond by nodding slowly.
"Now, what was this fighting about?" he asked. I dropped my head down again. "Tenebraeus?" I bit my lip, deciding how to tell him.
"He called me weak..." I said quietly. My father sighed. "It was mean!" I said quickly, trying to justify myself.
"Is that it?" I grabbed my elbow, embarrassed.
"He hit me with the sword." I mumbled. My father sighed again - disappointed. "He said he'd keep on doing it unless I stopped him!" I tried to explain, but my father held up a hand, silencing me, as he shook his head at the floor.
"He knows he's stronger than you..." He muttered. He looked back up at me. "You can go no Tenebraeus." I quickly turned around and hurried myself out of the large room, filled with desks and maps, as well as swords and a mannequin of armour.
As I left the room, I saw Titus sitting on the bench, his gaze nailed to the floor. I kept my eyes fixed in front of me as I left the presence of the two dominating figures.
I came into a large hallway, and followed the trail of stone flooring into my room, where I closed the door firmly, and walked over to my desk, facing the wall by the door and raising a hand. I closed my eyes and focused on what my mother had taught me. I focused on the energy spattering within my arms. I outstretched a hand and a small speck of flames spluttered out, evaporating into air with a flash of smoke. I groaned, frustrated by my continual failure with my attempts of magic. I closed my eyes, and tried again, this time I used my frustration to try and motivate myself into making a sustaining flame. It didn't work, and so I tried again, my frustration making me more and more determined into sustaining a fire in my palm.
