Chapter 11 ~ Circle of Trust

The sky was foggy and cloudy, the grey menacing puffiness of the clouds threatening to fall down on the city and crumble it to bits, wiping out the puny life that existed upon the land. A divine punishment to the sinners of the earth, who knew not how to properly respect the wishes of their gods. Gods invented by man to explain the unexplainable and keep the fire burning within the hearts of simple believers.

"Insects!" the dark figure of the king passed like a dark shadow of the night, for a brief second in time, no light filled the small room of his private cabinet. He stood, tall and imposing, with his dark cloak hanging past him.

The sounds of clanking metal and hammers hitting heated anvils echoed from the bottom of the industrial valley he had made his capital, and reached his ears. A monotonous beat, dictating the way the minutes passed. It outlined the simple life the people of his country lived, a life filled with small joys that were not dangerous to his desires. His power lay in the unquestionable faith of his subjects, an adoration gained through long years of slaving away and existing only for their purpose. He chuckled, thinking that in a matter of months the time to repay the service would come, and they will in turn work to serve him. He clenched his fist, the sound of bending leather taking precedence over the background clanking. Emperor Folken rubbed his tear stained cheek. The tattoo that had been imposed upon him, against his will, and that now represented his mark of power. He rubbed the exact place, his mind still reliving the events of over a decade. The images were still vivid in his mind, time only serving to sharpen that which should have faded away.

~---Flashback---~

The rain dropped outside his cell, the little boy watching through the bars, his reddish brown eyes closed in on the free-falling droplets. Free… a word he had forgotten the meaning of. Although young in age, the shadow of the man he was to become had understood that from the moment he had been shoved in the musty dark, fowl smelling cell, he had lost the fragment of the reality he had been living. His life had changed course, and a new reality was building up before him. The rain did not seem clear and cleansing, but rather a mirror of the opportunities awaiting him. Within each tear-like droplet, he saw himself through a multitude of futures, one more horrifying than the next. Completely mesmerised by that, which he was witnessing, he paid no attention to the twisting of the key in the lock.

"Bawy, com 'er'." The guard's thick accented voice floated through the air, ripping the comforting veil of the future.

Folken turned around, and shivered, for the first time realising he was indeed cold. There was no heating in the room, and his torn garments were in no way, shape or form fit to warm his blue body. It took all his strength to make his fingers move, each slight twitch shooting pain up his arm. He brought up his hands to his mouth, and used his breath as a source of heat, but even the air in his lungs seemed icy and cold. Trudging the weights tied to his feet on the cold floor, each step scraping another shrilling cry from the oily rock, he made his way towards the guard.

His bare feet moved slowly, due to the heavy chains, unfit for a boy his size, the breeze only acted as a shearing knife. He tried very hard not to cry, for as cold as his body was, his heart was blazing with the angry fire of the mistreated.

"Com ohn, com ohn ye dirty reasc'l. Ah've naught got da whawl dahy tah wait fow yea." The guard spat on the floor angrily.

Folken clamped his mouth, sealing his lips together, and barring his tongue with his teeth. His childish perception had told him that it was best not to try to oppose these great adversaries, but merely to find a way around them, with minimal harm to himself.

"Ye usl'ss brat. Yer mawkin' mi aren't ye?" the guard said, in a thick broken accent, and struck him as hard as he could, with the back of his hand.

The blow hit him right in the face, bruising his left cheek. Folken stumbled backwards, emitting a small yelp of surprised pain. He stumbled and tripped over his chains and weights, losing his balance. His frail malnutritioned body hit the floor, and the crack of bones rippled through the air. The pain had been blinding, and the boy found he couldn't breathe for a moment or so. It was as if his lungs had contracted so tight, the muscles were now locked in a never releasing stance, squeezing all the ever-desired air from his body. His head throbbed, the gushing water of a waterfall deafening him, and his eyelids seemed glued open, never to moisten his itching brown eyes.

If air could taste, it had never tasted sweeter, as the shock passed, and Folken regained his freedom of breath. Silly he should think of it as freedom, for it was a word that had now lost all its meaning, and it only served to bring back a concept his mind did not grasp any long. Yet, the boy did not realise his paradoxical situation, as he was more focused on his physical worries and was ignoring the philosophical impossibilities of his thoughts. He blinked repetitively, trying to shed away the last blanket of fog clouding his mind. Soon, he found that he could not move his right arm. His skin had stretched to the maximum, to accommodate the shift of wanton bones that had jumped out of their places upon impact. The cartilage had moved upwards, with the other bones pushing it higher and higher, until Folken saw it popping out of his skin, leaving a bloody mess of flesh of bones exposed to the world. In small erratic movements, he tried to stand up, and continue his slow progress to the open door.

"Yer a gud fer nothin' bugger ye kno'. Ah dunno whay da mastah wan's tah see ye. Ye usel'ss pice uf shit! Naw yer gonna git up, an' yer gonna ma'ch ova dere, oh bah gawd ah'll kill yah." The man grabbed his light blue hair and shoved him forward.

The sudden movement that jerked him forward made the pain unbearable, and Folken, in his young age, considered that death would not be a punishment, but only a favour. He did not utter any sort of sound denoting pain, for what he was feeling was beyond words. He was watching the guard beat him, from somewhere above, a place beyond the room, beyond the jail, beyond the city. Somewhere where the physical pains were only the sharp thudding of a drum, singing a slow paced tune of death. He could vaguely understand why the guard felt the need to take out his heart's troubles on his growing body. He could however sense that the beating was having an exalting effect on his abuser, bringing him to a state of powerful euphoria brought on by the sight of his bleeding body. The sweat that was forming on the man's brow was a satisfied sweat denoting his power. His muscles were getting strength from the surge of power he was feeling. Seeing him reduced to a heap of bleeding bones made the man believe that indeed he was not a low, dirty bag of scum that had no control over his life, but instead it gave him the illusion that he had control over someone else's life, and that he was powerful enough to change it. The boy noted, with disdain, that such power was like a slowly acting poison, because once he had started to get the trill, the need to satisfy the animalistic instinct of dominance would grow to the point where it would kill him. It would serve him right too… It was then that Folken saw it; the double-edged sword of power. If used moderately, and with purpose, power would not serve as a strong ally, but it would give him the ability to truly control the life of others. Not just one person, but everyone.

In his safety spot, Folken saw another vision of the future unfurling. In this one, he was the ruler of a great kingdom, which encompassed all of Gaea. He had been granted, by the Gods, the ultimate strength to change a human will, and no one dared take the throne away from him. He was now healing the wounds a civil war of the greatest magnitude had driven into the world's core. From the blood-soaked ground, white roses of peace grew, which shed red tears of forgiveness for the rebels now existing only in legends. His lips twisted in a smile, as the picture wavered and vanished before him. Slowly, he floated back to his own body, accepting the repetitive blows of the angry man.

Folken opened one of his eyes – which had not been affected by the numerous hits to his face – and looked at the man, managing a lop-sided grin.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice coarse and dry.

The man looked at him, a look of confusion sweeping by, and his face twisting into a ferocious scowl.

"Ye thin' dat ahm gonna let ye uffa ho'k if ya 'ank mi? Ah thin' dat ye shoul' kno' dat ah dunn care a dahm fer yer thanks bawy. An' ahm gonna keep un hittin' ye until ye sta't bawlin'." The guard told him, and steeled his promise with a swift kick in the ribs.

"Let him go!" another voice registered into Folken's mind.

The guard stopped, his fist clenched, in mid-air. A whimper of terror issued from the man's throat, but Folken was too tired to open his eyes. The guard dropped him, and Folken's mind only perceived the hardness of the floor underneath him. Darkness overcame his mind, his body giving out completely…

When he woke up, he was not in the same cell of before, but rather in a soft chair, his hands and feet immobilised by leather straps. His shoulder wasn't hurting, and only soon after did the boy realise that he had opened his eyes without difficulty. He struggled with his restraints, but he was way too little to actually posses a force capable of breaking through.

"Do not fret, the restraints were only a measure of protecting you." A faded voice echoed from a corner.

"Protect me from what?" was the first words Folken uttered ever since his capture.

"Ooh, a keen boy! You do not waste words, I see." The voice moved from the unseen corner to his field of view. It was an old man, with long white hair, dressed in a long black robe.

"Protect me from what?" Folken repeated his question.

"From yourself." The man answered.

The boy fell silent for a few seconds, his mind deciphering the answer he had just received.

"Why would I need protection from myself?" he asked soon after.

"Ooh, very, very sharp indeed. I see now, I made the right choice." The man clapped his hands in excitement.

As before, Folken repeated his question. "Why would I need protection from myself?"

"Because, you are a very lucky boy. Come, let me show you what we have made of you! You are now an angel! Come! Come." The man shrieked happily, and untied him from his restraints.

For a brief second in time, the boy considered actually giving the man a healthy shove, and running away. However, the question of what he had become ate away at him, until the need to know what exactly the strange man had done became unbearable. Folken realised that he would not get closer to his dream if he did not understand his persona completely. This new and unwanted change had been added to the list of things to examine, and he would not miss the chance. He said nothing, but followed the man to a mirror on the other side of the room.

"Now, focus on what you feel that is new inside of you. I know you can feel it. It's right there in front of your eyes. Don't try to deny it. Just… accept it."

Folken gave him a questioning glance, but did not actually dignify him with a reply. He merely closed his eyes, and tried to do as the man said. A few minutes of meticulous searching, brought no results, and he opened his eyes, and looked up at the man.

"What? Can't you find it?" the man asked annoyed.

Folken shook his head.

"It's there, try again!" he barked.

Folken did as told, but still nothing happened.

"Where are my parents?" he asked.

"Dead. Now try again." He man ordered.

This time, Folken did not do as told. It had been as someone had just slapped him. A slap that hurt more than the beating of the guard. Dead. Just like that. Dead. What was worse, was that no one cared. This man had only offered the information as a means to shut him up, and get him to try his little game again. Folken felt tears burn under his eyelids, and finally his eyes overflowed, a stream of angry and hurt tears flowing down his dirty cheeks. Dead. Did this mean that his mother… his father.. and his sister were dead? Everything he had known was… dead. He was alone in this world, stuck at the mercy of a cruel and dispassionate man that considered death to be nothing. Death was everything. Life and death WERE everything. A sense of loneliness washed over the ten year old boy, a feeling worse than pain. His heart ached, beating slowly. The fire of sadness and anger made it a torrid desert, where only the winds of despair shifted the sands of his memories. No, it couldn't be.

"You lie!" Folken screamed, his eyes blurry with tears.

"I do not. I can show you their bodies. Well, what's left of them in any case." The man told him. "Now stop bawling, and do what I tell you!" the ordered.

"No! I will not. I hate you all. I wish you all suffered like the dogs you are, in the pits of hell. I wish you derived no happiness from anything, and I hope that your lives are nothing by empty voids of a wish you know you cannot fulfil. I hope that whatever you loved and held dear is taken away from you, and I hope that you watch your most prized possession waste itself in front of your eyes." Folken screamed defiantly. "I curse you to a life full of unhappiness!" he finished.

The man looked at him, almost amused by his feeble attempts at fighting back. "Do what I told you, and stop crying. I won't tell you again."

Folken tried to contain himself. Until he saw a better way out of the situation, he best do what the man told him. However, one last tear made his way down his right cheek, as he closed his eyes to try it again.

In the moments following, Folken heard the sizzling of something somewhere, but he ignored it. Suddenly, he felt someone grab him by the hair, and violently thrust his head backwards, and pressing a hot iron on his left cheek.

This time, the boy did not restrain himself. His screams filled the room, and moments later he was dragged away by the old man, who possessed a very strong grip. He violently opened a door, and Folken found himself hanging on a balcony, floating above a city. The man gave him a strong push, and the weakened boy tumbled over the ledge.

He could feel the cold wet wind go past him, and he could feel the fluttering of his clothes as he was nearing the ground. All that Folken could think about was life. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die! I don't want to die!!!!!" His mind screamed. Knowing that he was in his last moments, the boy let himself go free, and from his mouth escaped a vicious scream of an animal that knows his fate. He screamed until his throat was raw, until his lungs held no more air, and until he felt the train of his thoughts change from not wanting to die, to not dying. "I will not die, I will not die, I will not die. I WILL NOT DIE!" His mind screamed out, followed by the words that sheared the crisp autumn air.

It was in the moment of his total release, that Folken felt that which the man had described to him. It was the gift, which offered him the possibility of life. A nondescript chest, holding his ticket to the future. In his hungry desperation for a glimmer of hope, Folken embraced this new and strange element within him, and slowly, out of the middle of his back, he felt something strange. At first, he started to feel lighter and lighter, until he felt the winds support him, and carry him in its current. Then, out of the middle of his back, Folken felt something growing. Terrified, he tried to turn his head and look at what was happening, in a futile attempt to stop it. However, his human body made the action impossible, and he had to settle for the fact that he was no longer descending as rapidly. Then, out of nowhere, came a rain of pitch black feathers. He looked up, but he saw no birds above him. However, he was still pelted with the soft feathers. The horrid realisation hit him, when he felt himself ascending, and when he heard the calculated beating of strong wings. He looked to his right, and he encountered a strong Draconian black wing. He looked to his left, and encountered another one of the things. In his innocence, the young boy thought that maybe a stained Draconian had descended from the heavens and had come to save him in his moment of greatest need. To test this theory, he looked down at his waist, to see if anyone was holding him. His look of shock then turned to a look of horror, as he saw no hands, and felt no other presence but his own in the air. It was he. He was flying.

Renewed tears of shame and anger threatened to flow down his cheek. Fearing reprimand, he stiffened his tears, and tried to steel himself. He had become this THING not of his own free will, but of the will of another one who misused power. Just like the guard, this man liked to change the course of life. He enjoyed the power it brought. He relished it. All Folken could do is react to the things which were happening to him, until the time when he would become strong enough to take life in his own hands, and wrestle with his own problems.

By this time, he was back at the balcony, and he landed lightly on it. The wings disappeared within seconds of his feet hitting the ground. The old man was watching him, with glowing black eyes. Folken could see a hunger in them, that devoured his soul. He knew that if the man could, he would kill him, and take over his body in a second. There was no doubt in Folken's mind that he had now and forever became a tool to this man.

"Welcome home my son. I am your new father, and you may call me Isaac." The man told him in his raspy voice.

"What have you done to me?" Folken asked him.

"I've helped you become a better person. Come, I must tell you the whole of your purpose." The man laughed excitedly, and patted Folken's shoulder. He silently followed him inside, down a new path in life.

That night, the young boy had cried himself to sleep. He had cried for his family, and for he that did not exist anymore. He had cried for the injustice of life, but mostly he had cried for what he had become. Knowing his purpose, he vowed never to yield to their will, for in his life so far, he had known love, happiness, and security, and his heart bloomed with the respect he had for life and justice.

"I will never forget what it means to be human." The boy thought, as he started to feel the drowsiness of sleep.

~----End Flashback----~ (A/N Now weep thee for Folken's soul)

That had been the last time he had wept. No tears had stained his pillow in the next sixteen years that followed. Nor will they ever stain his pillow again. Although he had vowed to stay true to that human nature his long dead mother had taught him to appreciate, Folken had soon found out that it was not possible. Little by little, he had begun to scratch away at that simple foundation, and fill it with the necessities of his new life.

"But I have no regrets. After all, I stayed alive, so in a way, I did betray myself from long ago, and in a way I didn't." Folken thought, as he felt someone's hand on his shoulder, massaging it slightly.

"You're too tense Sire." A feminine voice told him.

"How long have you been standing there, Eriya?" Folken asked.

"A while. I knew I had no right to disturb your thoughts Sire." She told him.

"I told you so many time that you man call me Folken. Why do you insist on that stupid title?" Folken asked, moving towards her and embracing her gently, then placing a fervent kiss on her lips.

"Lord Folken, I am only your General. It would be disrespectful to you." She told him, looking up into his eyes.

Folken was terrified by the absolute loyalty he saw lying in them. He knew for certain that she would take the deadly blow meant for him full force, and without regrets. He saw in her eyes, that she existed solely for him, and for no one else. It terrified, yet excited him at the same time. To have such a power over someone's life, was something he had not got used to.

"You're not my General here." He said silencing her with yet another kiss.

Eriya responded to his kiss eagerly, and smiled when it ended. "I have come to bring you news of your army." She told him.

"What's wrong?" Folken asked, retreating back into a corner of practicality. It was best not to display his emotions so openly with her. Although it was so hard, he had to exercise control.

"Nothing. I just wanted to report that everything is going perfectly according to plan. The Dragon Slaying Units have been dispatched to Chesta and Naria, who are currently heading for Freid." She told him.

"That is perfect. Any news of the monastery? Did the monks make any attempt to relocate?" Folken asked.

"We do not know for sure. Chesta and Naria got distracted by the King of Fanelia and his party, who happened to be passing through the country. They thought it would be a good opportunity to capture them and thus win Fanelia for Solaria." Eriya told him.

Folken sighed. "They shouldn't have done that, we wanted to keep this operation as secret as possible. Who gave them permission?" he yelled, at no one in particular.

"W-well… they t-thought t-that…" Eriya stammered.

"They thought what? I gave them specific orders and they disobeyed them. I should kill them both! They do not deserve any better." Folken cursed.

The colour from Eriya's cheeks faded. "No! Lord Folken, I beg of you. Give them another chance! They were just over zealous of trying to please you. Please sire, I beg of you!" she kneeled at his knees.

Folken looked at her, stifling a gasp of surprise. No matter how loyal she was to him, she would always be equally loyal to her twin. So loyal, as to throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness for her sister. He was impressed, more than she could ever imagine. The love one had for a sibling, Folken respected that, and considering everything else, decided that Naria's and Chesta's deaths were not necessary. He would have ordered them without flinching had they been troublesome, but he was willing to overlook one small mistake.

"Stand up. They will not be executed." He told her.

She stood up, and he saw the trail of tears on her cheeks. He stepped close, and caressed her face. "A'mael…" he whispered, before dismissing her. It was a word in a language long forgotten, that only he knew. She would never guessed the amount of affection he had just displayed for her with that one word. "Do not worry. I am glad you're keeping my army in good shape." He told her smiling.

Eriya saluted him, and left. Folken turned around, and looked back out the window, revising his plans and strategies to fit the new information he had just received. It wasn't so bad that they had tried catching Van Fanel. That would give his men a good opportunity to wedge themselves closer to the king, and distance him from his real friends. Yes, sooner or later, he would have Fanelia. It was only a matter of time.

A silent thud broke his chain of thoughts, and his pulse rose in alarm, as he saw Eriya fainted on the floor.

"Medic! Medic! I need a medic!" Folken yelled down the hall.

Two doctors, dressed in white coats showed up immediately, and loaded the unconscious Eriya onto a stretcher.

"What happened?" one of them asked.

"Well, she was about to go out, when she just collapsed." Folken told them.

The doctors nodded, and left. Folken followed them, without missing a beat. As the put Eriya into the infirmary, the Emperor wanted to follow, but one of the nurses stopped him.

"No sire, it's better if you wait outside. It will be less painful if…" she didn't continue.

Folken clenched his fist. "She's not going to die. If you let my General die, I will personally kill you with my own two hands. Now go in there, and fix her. I will wait out here!" he yelled.

The nurse smiled at him pleasantly and left. Folken scowled, and began pacing the hall up and down. He had no idea what could be wrong with Eriya, was it over work? If so he should not stress her so hard. She was still a delicate princess after all. Folken sighed, and rubbed his temples. He did not know why he felt so concerned about her well-being, but he knew he was. If she died… but she couldn't? Could she?

"Sire, you have a meeting with the council in ten minutes." His scribe yelled down the hall, coming towards him with a bunch of papers.

"Cancel it." Folken told him flatly.

"But you can't cancel it. Members from all over the country are coming!" the ma exclaimed.

"I do not care. Postpone it, cancel it, whatever. I am not leaving until Eriya is safe!" he screamed.

"Sire, you cannot afford to miss this council meeting. It is of the outmost importance!" he pleaded.

"If you want to die, then continue on the path you chose. I am not leaving until my General is safe." He told him.

The man sighed, unhappy with the Emperor's decision. Folken just glared at him, and continued his pacing. His thoughts focused on Eriya, and what could be wrong with her. He could feel his worry growing bigger, as he saw no reason for her to be sick. She had extremely good living conditions, a very healthy diet. The only problem would be stressed, but he… he thought he took care of that. Smiling, Folken sat down on the bench. Maybe it was womanly problems. She was still a woman, a cat woman that was.

The hours passed, and the doctors did not emerge from the room. Folken considered, at one point breaking down the door and standing by her bedside, caressing her golden hair, and telling her tales of long ago. The ones she loved. She was his a'mael, and he would not let her die, no matter what. But then he reconsidered, and sat back down and waited. Waiting was the good thing. With time, all answers came. And so did his.

The doctor walked out of the infirmary, and Folken jumped to his feet immediately.

"How is she?" he asked breathlessly.

"She's fine. We've determined the reason for her fainting spell. You see… sometimes, during her.. condition.. this happens often. Especially since… well… sometimes conditions like hers cause a lot of trouble." The doctor was obviously frustrated.

"Well, what's her "condition?" Folken asked, deeply annoyed and aggravated at the stammering man.

The doctor leaned over and whispered something in his ear.

"SHE'S WHAT?!?!?!?!" Folken screamed aloud. "But that's not right, because.. but she was… oh no… but she could've… but she didn't… and yet… it could… it wasn't… you seee…." Folken stopped talking, feeling the drowsiness overcome him. He steadied himself by leaning against the wall, and then sunk on the bench again, shaking his head, yet grinning oddly.

"You may go see her if you wish." The doctor told him, and left Folken starring off into space.

The doctor smiled, thinking that even Solaria's Emperor was still human after all.

Author's Note:

Thank you all my readers, and double thanks to those that have left me a review. I am sorry I am so slow with this, and I know this chapter wasn't what you were expecting, but.. I love Folkie-sama, and I am giving you all a bit of an interlude. Thank you for sticking through with me, and actually coming and reading this, and reviewing. U do not know how much I appreciate it. Thank you all so very much. I had writer's block, that's why this is shorter. I'll have another chapter asap. Umm, it's 4 am now, I have to go, sorry for the shortness, I hope you liked the folken character building, and the lil dry humour at the end. Oh, just so you know, folken and van are not brothers. They're not related. Ok, thanks a lot, please leave a comment, and see u next chap! PA out.