Long Live the King
by Rydia Highwind
Prologue
Darkness. Nothing but darkness, all around. A blanket of stifling black was blotting out any warmth, any light, any hope that may have been a sort of comfort. The night was real, black, hungry, its vile jaws opening, clamping down on him, overtaking him, filling him with an insane amount of dread. He wanted to run, to escape the torment, but something inside him kept him from moving.
"Cecil."
A voice, so familiar and yet so distant. It was a pinpoint of hope in that dismal existence he was immersed in, a hope that drove feeling back into his numbed limbs and he turned around slowly, trying to face the voice which spoke his name so gently.
There was light there, a light that had not been there before. He tried to take a step toward it, but a gust of wind suddenly erupted from behind him, blowing forward, trying to blow the light away. He reached out a hand, desperately trying to stop it, his only hope, his only chance for survival in this dismal world, from being rushed away by this evil wind.
His vision blurred, but the light remained. In fact, it grew, and as the wind died down, he could nearly see what had eluded him before. The light reflected back and forth around him, though never growing enough to cast out the dreadful dark mist that seemed to be following him. He slowly recognized his surroundings as he looked around.
Mirrors. Crystal, pristine mirrors glistening silently in the pale light, shooting up almost endlessly, casting the illusion of infinity surrounding him. A step forward, and he placed his hand upon the smooth, cold glass, facing himself. The crystalline armor of Luna was upon him, the scarlet robes and golden tiara perfectly in place and the azure hilt of the Excalibur waiting to be drawn from its ornate scabbard.
"Cecil...do you see? Do you understand? You must take up the armor of the Paladin once again. Here is where it started and here you again shall bear my sword." The voice, the Light, was pleading with him, begging him to do so. "You cannot trust the ones you love, they are awaiting your death."
A figure was approaching, reflected in the enchanted glass, dark, with death and betrayal in his intent. The Paladin-king looked over his shoulder in alarm, but there was no one behind him. The glass had a shadow of magic within it, and so he turned back to observe the scene.
The silhouette walked with scorn and malice, and slipped a knife from his sleeve. As he approached, the knife flicked out and forward, and the reflection stumbled back, suddenly adorning a silver tip from his throat. An eerie factor, watching oneself die, enough to drive a lesser man to madness. But he just watched, unable to aid his dying reflection.
He had just died. And yet here he stood.
The reflection sputtered in horror and surprise, and he fell to the ground, eyes open in death and shock, blood staining his once glorious armor. The man took a step back from the mirror, horror nearly overcoming him.
Justice, however, was futile. The shadowy figure had disappeared as he had watched himself die, and in the figure's place was a lovely blonde girl, her wide blue eyes horrified and saddened. "Cecil..!" she cried, kneeling next to her husband and cradling his head. Tears glistened and streamed down her fair cheeks.
"Rosa...," he whispered, reaching toward the mirror and longing to console her. They had barely been married for two years, and yet she was becoming a widow. "Rosa, it's okay, I'm here... Can't you see me, Rosa? Can't you hear me?"
But there was no time for her to answer. Preoccupied as he was, he never heard nor noticed the black figure creeping up behind him, adorned with a deadly silver blade. Pain shot through his throat and blood erupted from his sputtering lips. He feebly attempted to take a breath, but there was nothing but blood-red pain. Weakness overtook him and he collapsed forward, against the mirror, clawing at his throat and trying to look up at his aggressor at the same time.
His sight failed him though, and the last thing he heard was the voice of his murderer whispering, "Long live the king."
by Rydia Highwind
Prologue
Darkness. Nothing but darkness, all around. A blanket of stifling black was blotting out any warmth, any light, any hope that may have been a sort of comfort. The night was real, black, hungry, its vile jaws opening, clamping down on him, overtaking him, filling him with an insane amount of dread. He wanted to run, to escape the torment, but something inside him kept him from moving.
"Cecil."
A voice, so familiar and yet so distant. It was a pinpoint of hope in that dismal existence he was immersed in, a hope that drove feeling back into his numbed limbs and he turned around slowly, trying to face the voice which spoke his name so gently.
There was light there, a light that had not been there before. He tried to take a step toward it, but a gust of wind suddenly erupted from behind him, blowing forward, trying to blow the light away. He reached out a hand, desperately trying to stop it, his only hope, his only chance for survival in this dismal world, from being rushed away by this evil wind.
His vision blurred, but the light remained. In fact, it grew, and as the wind died down, he could nearly see what had eluded him before. The light reflected back and forth around him, though never growing enough to cast out the dreadful dark mist that seemed to be following him. He slowly recognized his surroundings as he looked around.
Mirrors. Crystal, pristine mirrors glistening silently in the pale light, shooting up almost endlessly, casting the illusion of infinity surrounding him. A step forward, and he placed his hand upon the smooth, cold glass, facing himself. The crystalline armor of Luna was upon him, the scarlet robes and golden tiara perfectly in place and the azure hilt of the Excalibur waiting to be drawn from its ornate scabbard.
"Cecil...do you see? Do you understand? You must take up the armor of the Paladin once again. Here is where it started and here you again shall bear my sword." The voice, the Light, was pleading with him, begging him to do so. "You cannot trust the ones you love, they are awaiting your death."
A figure was approaching, reflected in the enchanted glass, dark, with death and betrayal in his intent. The Paladin-king looked over his shoulder in alarm, but there was no one behind him. The glass had a shadow of magic within it, and so he turned back to observe the scene.
The silhouette walked with scorn and malice, and slipped a knife from his sleeve. As he approached, the knife flicked out and forward, and the reflection stumbled back, suddenly adorning a silver tip from his throat. An eerie factor, watching oneself die, enough to drive a lesser man to madness. But he just watched, unable to aid his dying reflection.
He had just died. And yet here he stood.
The reflection sputtered in horror and surprise, and he fell to the ground, eyes open in death and shock, blood staining his once glorious armor. The man took a step back from the mirror, horror nearly overcoming him.
Justice, however, was futile. The shadowy figure had disappeared as he had watched himself die, and in the figure's place was a lovely blonde girl, her wide blue eyes horrified and saddened. "Cecil..!" she cried, kneeling next to her husband and cradling his head. Tears glistened and streamed down her fair cheeks.
"Rosa...," he whispered, reaching toward the mirror and longing to console her. They had barely been married for two years, and yet she was becoming a widow. "Rosa, it's okay, I'm here... Can't you see me, Rosa? Can't you hear me?"
But there was no time for her to answer. Preoccupied as he was, he never heard nor noticed the black figure creeping up behind him, adorned with a deadly silver blade. Pain shot through his throat and blood erupted from his sputtering lips. He feebly attempted to take a breath, but there was nothing but blood-red pain. Weakness overtook him and he collapsed forward, against the mirror, clawing at his throat and trying to look up at his aggressor at the same time.
His sight failed him though, and the last thing he heard was the voice of his murderer whispering, "Long live the king."