This is the first piece of writing I have ever done, all forums of criticism will be very much appreciated. This will be a OC centric story in the beginning. The story takes place 8 months before cannon
Chapter 1: Artos
The morning sun painted the training courtyard in a warm, golden hue, casting elongated shadows over the figures standing within. Artos Rothslor's gaze absorbed the picturesque scene before him, a vibrant courtyard teeming with onlookers. Gilded marble archways, adorned with delicate specks of gravity dust, intertwined in a mesmerizing dance, ascending toward the heavens. The intricate structures seemed to spiral into eternity, evoking a sense of timeless beauty that captivated Artos.
Looking around Artos could see many of the onlookers adorned atop the marble encrusted archways that encircled the multi-dust faceted arena floor below. One such individual was Marcus Firebrace, head of the Centurion program at Tassos. Squinting his eyes Artos spotted the regalia Marcus was adorned in, A deep red seemingly Kevlar overcoat, overlapped with intricate streaks of gold, adorned with various medals. He didn't seem to be armed, but knowing Marcus that couldn't be further from the truth
He's here to check if Aero has potential for the Centurion program, after witnessing my own duel, he must be wondering how Aero stacks up.
Suddenly, Maximus's thunderous voice shattered Artos's reverie. Startled, Artos locked eyes with the silver eyes of his brother, his silver red streaked hair waving arrogantly in the wind. With a puzzled expression plastered upon his face he questioned, "What?"
Yet, it was Antonis who responded with a mischievous smirk, teasing, "Is age finally catching up to you, dear brother?" His amber eyes danced with mirth as he pointed towards the center of the large octagonal arena. Artos's attention shifted to the sleek, glossy sea of sand covering the arena floor, where two contestants warmed up. "We're starting a betting pool. Max has placed 150 lien on Octavius winning, while I have 150 lien on a draw," Antonis concluded with a flourish of his hand, as if the outcome were an obvious choice.
Ah typical Antonis, It should always be concluded that when presented with two options, he will always find someway to pick a third.
"Who in their right mind bets on a draw?" He locked eyes with Antonis and muttered, "Are we even related? Maybe you were dropped on your head as a child." Artos shook his head, knocking his own silver hair into his eye sight. Questioning the odds Antonis seemed so confident about seemed only to lead to madness.
Antonis, maintaining eye contact, challenged Artos with a mischievous smirk, "If you're so sure I'm wrong, why not make a bet? It should be easy money for you." Artos couldn't help but ponder what Antonis knew that made him so self-assured. Surveying the arena, Artos spotted his older brother Aero on one end. Clad in a custom set of regal attire that demanded attention with its dominant hues of purple and black, creating an elegant palette that captures both shadows and royalty. Muted shades of purple add sophistication and grace, while strategic touches of crimson create a captivating contrast. His helmet, with its meticulous craftsmanship, obscures his face and exudes authority and avian grace. Woven with bulletproof materials, it radiates an otherworldly aura, infused with layers of dust. His body pulsating with silent energy, Aero gracefully swung Apollo, his mechanical compound bow infused with dust. Artos's scrutiny revealed a myriad of switches integrated into runes etched along the bow's edges. On the opposite side of the arena stood Octavius, the Aponnos Guard commander, donned in carbon alloy armour befitting his station, holding his double-sided glaive, his weight unevenly distributed on his left leg.
His weight is imbalanced, looks like the crippling blow I struck to his right knee two days prior, still hasn't fully recovered. That hardly seems fair, but to be fair Octavius would take it as a blow to his honour if he had to be substituted for this fight. As it stands the odds should favour Aero.
"Sign me up, I'll be putting my money on Aero. You greasy bastards better have my money ready"
Artos's confident statement caught Maximus's attention, hands tightening upon the railing, eyes scanning outword "your awfully confident now aren't you?" examining the arena, Maximus eyes scrunched in concentration "what could you have seen?"
Artos casually replied, pointing his thumb towards Antonis, his arrogant smirk still plastered on his face "I'm just as confident as he is. Besides, a master never reveals his hand too early." The sound of a countdown drowned out any further argument, signalling the start of the spar.
Anticipation crackled in the air as Aero Rothslor notched an arrow bathed in shimmering crimson blood. Commander Octavius, a seasoned warrior and renowned combatant, stood before him, radiating an aura of confidence. The crowd fell silent in eager anticipation, their eyes fixated on the impending clash.
Artos murmured to his younger siblings, his eyes locked on Aero. "Watch closely," he said, pointing up to Marcus Firebrace "You know who that is?" seeing the nod of there heads, he continued "Aero will be trying to leave an impression on him, and you two will be next, that is if you want to join me and Aero at the Centurion program. So watch closely, for any facial cues"
Antonis's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well. I hope he gets impressed with a draw"
Maximus, gears turning in his head, raised a palm to his forehead, turned to his twin with sunken eyes. "I need a drink to get through this" he sighed, but a smile crept across Antonis's face in response.
The overhead speakers, nestled within the golden falcon's mouth, symbolizing the great legend of Curius thrummed to life, followed by the booming sound of energy, signalling the start of the duel. Aero wasted no time, raising Apollo. His movements were fluid, as though he had been born with a bow in his hands, drawing back the string with unwavering precision and determination.
As Aero released the arrow, Artos held his breath. Guided by Aero's exceptional marksmanship and his manipulation of the blood, the arrow soared through the air, leaving trails of crimson threads flowing from Aero's hand. The arrow found its mark on Octavius's shoulder, eliciting a grunt of pain. An iridescent crimson glow emanated from the impact, inflicting further damage and hurling Octavius towards the arena's boundary. In mid-air, Octavius activated his semblance, adjusting his trajectory and hurtling himself towards Aero with blinding speed.
Swiftly, Aero launched himself backward, securing Apollo magnetically onto his back. Drawing Whirlwind, a short sword from his sheath, Aero deftly transformed the blade into a war hammer with a flick of his wrist. He swung the weapon with calculated force, its resounding impact echoing through the arena. Octavius, utilizing his Swiftwind semblance, skilfully parried the blow, barely evading harm's reach.
In an instant, Aero spun around, revealing a fully customized M4 assault rifle. Despite the equipped suppressor, each round thundered from the barrel, causing sparks as they ricocheted off Octavius's aura. Artos utilized his semblance, Bloodbend, manipulating the blood within Octavius's body to disrupt his balance while maintaining distance and circling him clockwise.
Harnessing the speed boost from Swiftwind, Octavius overcame the outward pressure of Aero's semblance, surging towards him with blinding velocity. His glaive sang through the air, aiming for Aero's neck, but Aero twisted at the last moment, redirecting the blow to his shoulder. The impact emitted an audible crunch, seemingly throwing Artos off balance. Seizing the advantage, Octavius charged his seemingly disoriented opponent, only to be met with Whirlwind face-to-face. The ensuing clash erupted in a shower of sparks, ending abruptly with a burst of Bloodbend, propelling Octavius away from Aero.
In a breathtaking display of skill, Aero seamlessly transitioned from short-range combat to marksmanship. Dual multi-dust chambered pistols materialized in his hands, their gleaming barrels pulsating with elemental energy. Round after round was fired with lethal precision, finding their marks with deadly accuracy.
Artos couldn't help but exclaim, his eyes fixed on the growing frown bestowed upon Antonis's face, "Now he's simply showing off."
As the duel intensified, the combatants weaved and dodged, executing each move with astonishing speed. Aero's agility surpassed comparison, his marksmanship unerring, as he and Commander Octavius engaged in a lethal dance of skill and strategy. Blades clashed, generating cascades of sparks that mesmerized the captivated audience.
Artos observed their deadly dance, analyzing every maneuver, every feint, and parry. He marvelled at Aero's anticipation of Octavius's every move, countering with unparalleled precision.
As the battle raged on, Aero's semblance once again came into play. He channelled his aura, enveloping himself in a protective shroud of crimson energy. With a focused gaze, he extended his hand toward Octavius, subtly manipulating his fingers to activate his Bloodbend semblance.
Aero's control over the blood within Octavius's body disrupted his opponent's balance, causing him to stumble momentarily. It was the opening Aero needed. With a swift motion, he lunged forward, his war hammer crashing down with immense force.
The impact sent shockwaves through the arena, causing the ground to tremble. Dust particles danced in the air, casting an ethereal glow around the combatants. Octavius, momentarily disoriented, struggled to regain his footing.
Seizing the opportunity, Aero swiftly unslung Apollo from his back, notching an arrow infused with fire Dust and drawing back the string with unwavering determination. He released the arrow, watching it streak through the air.
The flaming projectile found its mark, striking Octavius squarely in the chest. The commander fell backward, his aura flickering dangerously close to depletion. The crowd erupted into cheers, their voices echoing through the arena.
Artos watched intently as Aero approached Octavius, extending a respectful hand toward his defeated opponent. What were they saying? Artos wondered, his curiosity piqued by the unheard conversation between the two.
Looking up he noticed Marcus smiling down at Aero. Artos then turned to his side, extending his hand to both an impressed Max and a wide-eyed Antonis.
"Looks like I'm owed 300 lien," Max nodded, bowing his head in acceptance. Antonis, his mouth agape, muttered inconsolably, "Betrayed by my own brother," while shooting a stunned gaze at Aero.
Amidst the victorious roar of the spectators, Artos, Antonis, and Maximus walked into the ring. Artos grinned, clapping his brother on the back.
"Did you know they had a betting pool going on. Neither of them thought you would win," Artos said, pointing at the twins.
"You tricked me!" declared Antonis, wildly pointing at Aero, only for Aero to smirk and start cackling. "Well, serves you right for trying to cheat," he beamed while staring at the open-mouthed Antonis.
Meeting Aero's gaze, Artos simply raised an eyebrow.
"Earlier, Antonis told me about his plan to start a betting pool among all of you, and I managed to convince him that I would arrange for the fight to end in a draw. Although that still doesn't explain why Max would bet against me."
Thoughtfully, Max mumbled, "I didn't know, you would be showing off for Marcus Firebrace."
At that Aero outstretched his hand, twisting gloved hand with an entwining crimson energy. In front of the twins.
"As will the both of you, that is of course unless you don't wish to be on our team" Aero paused to motion towards Artos "or maybe you wish to join Tassos Academy just to become regular old huntsmen"
"Don't worry we'll just fight Octavius before he has fully recovered, like you just did" Antonis mumbled, while rubbing a hand through his short faded silver hair.
As the victorious spectators roared with excitement, they made their way out of the training courtyard, leaving behind the skilfully crafted marble pillars that upheld the Crucible, the heart of the Military District. They walked through the vibrant streets of Aponnos, overwhelmed by the seemingly endless sprawl of towering marble columns, floating architectural wonders, and ornate fountains. The air was filled with the scent of spices and the hum of merchants, as the siblings weaved through the bustling crowds.
Life teemed in the market square as Artos and his siblings wove through the vibrant crowd. Lined with cobblestone streets, the bustling thoroughfare displayed stalls, each a treasure trove of exotic wares and goods. The air resonated with the symphony of haggling merchants, clinking coins, and eager customers exchanging animated conversations.
Artisans and craftsmen proudly displayed their creations, their hands skilfully crafting intricate patterns and designs. Colourful tapestries, delicate jewellery, and finely carved wooden figurines adorned the stalls, captivating passersby with their beauty and craftsmanship.
The enticing aroma of spices mingled with the scent of freshly baked bread and the fragrant perfume of flowers. Street vendors manned sizzling grills, tempting passersby with skewers of grilled meats and vegetables. Others served steaming bowls of aromatic soups and stews, enticing hungry souls with their flavorful offerings.
As they journeyed further, their attention was captured by a stall adorned with shimmering fabrics. The cloth merchant, a lively elderly woman with twinkling eyes, warmly greeted them. Silken scarves of every shade cascaded from hooks, billowing gently in the breeze. With a flourish, she unfolded a piece of fabric, revealing a stunning tapestry depicting a mythical creature, its scales glistening with golden thread.
Moving along the market square, the rhythmic beats of drums drew their attention to a circle of performers. Acrobats leapt through the air, their vibrant costumes adding a touch of whimsy to their gravity-defying stunts. A magician held the audience spellbound with sleight of hand, producing rabbits from empty hats and conjuring illusions that left the crowd in awe.
Beyond the entertainment, merchants proudly displayed baskets overflowing with exotic fruits, their vibrant hues beckoning visitors to taste the flavours of distant lands. Nearby, a cart piled high with gleaming treasures caught Artos's eye. Glittering gemstones, intricately designed amulets, and ornate weaponry whispered tales of forgotten kingdoms and ancient battles.
"I promised Luna I would find something for her at the market," Maximus smiled, gesturing toward the bustling marketplace.
"We'll accompany you," Aero declared, slinging his arm over Antonis' shoulder, ignoring his brother's silent protest.
Before Artos could utter a response, his attention was drawn to a peculiar sight—a cluster of oily black stones that seemed out of place in the vicinity of Aponnos, particularly near the Aquarix. A mysterious force pulled at him, a palpable sensation that pierced his mind, its intensity growing as he fixated on the stones.
"I'll wait by the Aquarix. I need to investigate something," Artos declared, striding forward without casting a glance back to check if the others acknowledged his departure. The pull only intensified, its grip on his senses drowning out the surrounding sounds, leaving nothing but a deafening, high-pitched ring. The scent of ash permeated the air, overwhelming his other senses.
Approaching the Aquarix bridge, Artos observed a startling transformation within its main archway. Instead of the usual pristine, shiny white exterior, sinister veins of oily black substance snaked through the stone, throbbing with an unnatural rhythm. They beckoned to him with an unholy allure, emanating an overwhelming sense of dread that gripped his soul.
"Why is this happening now? Not now. It was just a dream, just a dream," Artos muttered, the ringing in his ears evolving into a thunderous pounding that reverberated throughout his entire being. Teetering on the edge of an abyss, the veins twisted into grotesque tendrils, exuding putrid vapours that swirled and reached outwards.
"Make it stop," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "Please."
With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, Artos extended his trembling hand to touch the pulsating stone. In that fleeting moment, a sense of tranquility washed over him, and a sigh escaped his lips, offering a brief respite from the surrounding chaos. But the moment was shattered by a grinding noise that pierced the air, assaulting his ears.
"Boy," a harsh voice barked, accompanied by an intensifying grinding sound. Artos looked up, his heart seizing as he beheld a shrouded figure advancing towards him. With every step the figure took, an indescribable sorrow seeped into Artos's being, an anguish that seemed to grow exponentially. Before he could react, the figure transformed into a decaying, ancient corpse of a woman, her grip on his arm possessing an unearthly strength. The grinding noise reached its peak, causing his head to throb.
The figure's face contorted into a twisted smile that seemed to stretch endlessly, sending a chill down Artos's spine. The woman's gaze locked with his, and in that moment, he wished he had never met her eyes. The sight was horrific—open orifices, a burst eye socket spewing forth maggots, a sickly yellow eye, and rotting teeth. Her words, harsh and unnatural, tumbled from her mouth, accompanied by the ceaseless spew of maggots. "When the raven falls, unimaginable horrors will await. Survive, and truth will become your salvation." The unnerving smile never left her face.
Suddenly, dark vapours billowed from her mouth, swirling to encompass Artos's vision. The darkness became a kaleidoscope, stretching endlessly in all directions, with the taste of ash coating his tongue. Bewildered, Artos realized his hands were wet, sticky even, and as he looked around, he found himself submerged in an ocean of viscous, oily black liquid. The grinding noise grew in tempo, disorienting his thoughts.
"This can't be real. None of this is real," Artos muttered, his voice barely audible amidst the chaos. He attempted to speak, but as his mouth opened, tentacles of the liquid rose to entwine around him, ensnaring him in their grasp.
Summoning his semblance, Artos unleashed a torrent of fire that erupted from his body, its familiar heat rushing to calm him. The flames hungrily devoured the inky tendrils, striving to free him from their suffocating grip. As the area around him became illuminated by the blaze, he surveyed his surroundings—a seemingly infinite expanse of darkness, with his flames serving as the sole beacon against the encroaching void.
Amidst the boundless abyss, a sharp outcropping caught his attention not far from his position. Behind it, a narrow slit emanated a brilliant light, pushing back the darkness. He knew he had to reach it.
"I have to move, now," Artos resolved, his voice infused with determination. Raising his left hand, he swung Voltstrike, his double-sided polearm, from his upper back. The carbon fiber alloy reflected his flames, highlighting streaks of deep red against the cool darkness. Intricate runes dotted the weapon, illuminated by his fiery aura. His thumb glided past two switches connected to Voltstrike as his left hand tightened around the weapon's cold yet reassuring exterior.
Expanding his flames before him, Artos watched as the ravenous sea of fire consumed the surrounding vapour. Taking his first steps toward the beckoning crevice, he sensed the ground trembling, as if it sensed his intentions.
Ahead, he encountered a towering mass of writhing, oily liquid—a rapidly approaching tidal wave. Without hesitation, Artos sprinted toward the crevice, extending his right hand as a kaleidoscope of fire erupted from his palm, hurtling toward the encroaching darkness.
As his outstretched fingers grazed the crevice, his salvation within reach, the tidal wave crashed upon him, extinguishing the hungry flames with an unending torrent of void. It rushed into his mouth, filling his lungs, suffocating him.
Within the darkness, he heard garbled words.
"Axsr hroitf kre...
wake up...
Korvnir luk min lokur...
Wake up...
WAKE UP!" The words echoed through his mind, mingling with the pain—agonizing, piercing pain that left him feeling incomplete, as if something essential had been torn from within.
Then, a vision materialized—a glossy cave filled his sight. Four pedestals dominated his view, each adorned with an image: a crown, a lamp, a staff, and a sword. And just as swiftly, he found himself sprinting through a forest of snow-laden aspen trees, fire engulfing everything in its path. The world burned around him, screams piercing his ears.
"Run...
run...
RUN!" The command echoed relentlessly.
Amidst the chaos, a valley materialized—peaceful, snow-covered, and breathtakingly beautiful. Unlike the previous images, it exuded tranquility. Towering mountains framed the landscape, and water cascaded over jagged peaks, forming a small paradise. An opening to a cave beckoned from the heart of the valley, drawing Artos towards it with an irresistible force.
Once again, Artos found himself running, propelled by a mixture of fear and curiosity. The urgency in his movements intensified as he heard his name called out amidst the tumultuous visions. "ARTOS!"
Gasping for breath, Artos's eyes fluttered open, instinctively activating his semblance, causing a burst of fire to erupt from his arm. His heart pounded in his chest as he emerged from the unsettling vision, his body drenched in a sheen of sweat. The surroundings gradually shifted back to the familiar sight of the Aquarix bridge, the once-veined stone now restored to its pristine white state.
The woman was nowhere to be seen, but the onlookers stared at Artos with wide-eyed astonishment. Quickly extinguishing the flames enveloping his arm, his heart still racing erratically, Artos turned to inspect himself in the reflection of the stream beneath him. His dilated amber eyes betrayed his inner turmoil, his silver hair matted with sweat, and his face swollen and irritated. He withdrew, trying to regain his composure.
His legs felt like liquid beneath him, his breathing still erratic. A sharp migraine threatened to overpower his senses, hindering his ability to process what he had just experienced. "What was that? The images were so vivid, did that actually happen?" Artos pondered aloud.
Suddenly, a hand firmly grasped Artos' shoulder, causing flames to erupt from his arm instinctively, ready to repel the intruder. Hand reaching down to grasp at the pistol strapped along his waist, hand tightening around the deep royal red encrusted handle. However, as he turned, his fiery gaze met the widened violet eyes and ashen hair of Aero.
Stumbling backwards hand shaking off the flames, eyes wide Aero exclaimed "Whoa, what the hell, Artos?", while clearly taken aback by the flames, concern still etched deeply into his features. After a few heartbeats of silence, Artos released his hold on his semblance and allowed it to recede.
Muttering an insincere apology, a cold edge lingering within his tone Artos replied, "Bad migraine. I wasn't thinking clearly. Let's just get home."
Aero seemed ready to argue, his gaze narrowed, but he ultimately settled for a nod of agreement. "Fine. But we need to talk about this, Artos," he asserted, his voice filled with determination and concern.
As they made their way back, Antonis jokingly whispered to Maximus, "I told you money drives people to madness." Maximus nodded solemnly as they followed the brothers in silence, their minds filled with questions.
Artos couldn't shake off the lingering effects of the nightmarish encounter. The surreal images, the disturbing woman, and the haunting words continued to replay in his mind. Merely thinking about the matter worsened his migraine.
As Artos and his companions weaved their way through the teeming masses, the cacophony of bustling bodies and echoing voices momentarily receded, offering a brief reprieve from the relentless throb pulsating within Artos' head. With each deliberate step leading them closer to the towering grandeur of the gates, adorned with intricate designs that whispered tales of ancient splendour, a sense of mounting anticipation surged through Artos' veins. The imposing structure loomed before them, its imposing presence proudly displaying the stamped emblem of the illustrious Rothslor family, an emblem that bore witness to generations of power and dominion.
Positioned like stalwart guardians, a regiment of Rothslor royal guards stood in resolute formation, their attire a seamless fusion of timeless centurion regalia and cutting-edge tactical gear. Their unwavering gaze fixed straight ahead, unyielding in their duty. And as Artos and his retinue drew near, the guards seamlessly parted, their stern countenances momentarily softened by a fleeting ripple of deference.
Stepping forward from the ranks, a guard on the right assumed a posture radiating confidence, his very presence commanding attention. With a voice rich with authority, he addressed the group, each word carrying profound weight. "Sirs, Lord Aulus beckons your presence within the hallowed sanctum of the main hall," he proclaimed, his tone imbued with an unwavering solemnity.
Maximus, the epitome of unassailable poise, received the guard's proclamation with an unflinching acknowledgement. "We appreciate your guidance, Felix," he replied, his words laden with a quiet yet resolute reverence. In response, Felix inclined his head in a gesture of reverence, paying homage to the honour and prestige that the group embodied as they passed through the threshold.
Entering the estate through the grand gates, adorned with intricate designs and the Rothslor emblem, the group left behind the bustling streets and immersed themselves in an atmosphere of opulence. The estate stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Rothslor family, with sprawling gardens, marble statues, and meticulously manicured hedges. The air carried the fragrance of blooming flowers, momentarily distracting Artos from his haunted thoughts.
Walking along the ornate corridors, their footsteps muffled by plush carpets, Artos let his mind wander. The conversations happening around him faded into a distant murmur. However, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that the experience had left within him; it felt all too real. Dreams were meant to stay as dreams, not bleed into reality. Vaguely, he saw little Luna run to Maximus excitedly, but in her place, all he could see was the woman's grotesque appearance. Instead of kind words being exchanged, all Artos heard was the reverberating cacophony of noise he had experienced before.
His wandering thoughts nearly led him to collide with Lisa Rothslor, but he quickly swerved to avoid her. Looking up, Artos noticed a smirk on her lips. "Was Aero's spar so bad that you've given up faith in him surviving Tassos?"
"Hey!" Aero interjected, defending himself.
Artos realized that he had initially only gone out to watch Aero's spar, but with everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten about it. "Oh... yeah, the spar... No, Aero was good. I even made money off his performance. It was those two who didn't believe in him. I just have a horrible headache..." Artos finished weakly, meeting Lisa's narrowing eyes.
"It's nothing to be concerned about. I'll be fine in a couple of hours," he lied.
Continuing into the meeting room, they were greeted by an elegant and authoritative sight. The room was adorned with rich tapestries depicting the family's history and achievements. A long wooden table dominated the space, surrounded by high-backed chairs, each displaying the Rothslor crest. At the head of the table, waiting for their arrival, sat Aulus and Valeria.
Artos took the nearest seat, absentmindedly acknowledging the presence of Lisa and Aero to his right and left. In the corner of his vision shadows could be seen stirring. Quickly closing his eyes denying the illusion, and bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge between his nose.
It could be possible that I've been drugged, what did I eat today. While Artos pondered the possibilities of the origin for this sudden bought of hallucinations, the drastic and sudden quietness slowly became apparent.
Opening his eyes he stared up at his mother, Valeria, where the leader of the Rothslor Trading Company should have sat, but instead, he saw the woman's decrepit, rotting scalp in place of her blond hair. In place of her rich honey coloured eyes was a single sickly yellow eye which turned to meet his own, evoking indescribable sorrow. A wide ever expanding sneer grew upon her face.
Suddenly, the creature gripped the sides of the high-backed oaken chair, its long, rotting nails scratching the wood. "Boy," it barked.
"Artos," he blinked quickly, and the creature was gone, replaced by his mother. "Are you okay, dear?"
No, no I'm not. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he forced out a response, "Sorry, Mother, I was lost in thought... What were we discussing, again?"
The warm, soft glow of the chandeliers provided a comforting and inviting ambience that Artos desperately clung to, attempting to preserve his sanity.
His father, Aulus, was a formidable man with silver-streaked crimson hair and piercing violet eyes that held a lifetime of wisdom and authority. He held Artos' gaze, his expression shifting from concentration to a mixture of concern and annoyance.
"We were discussing how Mistral's demands continue to escalate, potentially inciting a war they arrogantly believe they can win," Aulus explained. "Just this morning, they proposed increasing taxation on all goods produced and purchased within Aponnos and our allied territories. While I do not desire war, independence becomes more desirable with each passing day."
The political instability in Mistral had become a simmering cauldron of mishaps. Aponnos, with the majority of the population perceiving them as the rightful rulers, posed the greatest threat to Mistral.
Seeking something to anchor his dwindling sanity, Artos interjected, "Who would our allies be in such a situation? And isn't that our goal, Father?"
Aulus let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly. It was evident that this topic had occupied his mind for a significant portion of the day.
"Our allies in this endeavour would be the cities of Ravens Claw, Barcino, Potina, Redport, Eryx, and, of course, the Rothslor Trading Company, with Argus and Talos remaining undecided," Aulus explained, narrowing his eyes slightly as he searched Artos' face for something. After a moment, seemingly satisfied, Aulus continued, "While our goal is independence, I would prefer to achieve it with minimal bloodshed. However, every day, that seems more and more unlikely. Phontos urges us to attack now, but I have denied him. The reason being that, while we are the more powerful force in Anima, Mistral's allies will come to their aid."
Aulus finished his statement with a furrowed brow.
"Father," Aero began, "if I understand correctly, you are suggesting that we hold back any form of independence until Mistral's allies are neutralized. Surely the Rothslor Trading Company can assist in that?"
"Or alternatively, we crush Mistral swiftly enough that the actions of their allies become inconsequential," Artos added.
A small smirk began to form on Aulus' hardened face, but before he could utter a word, Valeria spoke up. "The Rothslor Trading Company will immediately begin the process of winding down internal trade and operations in opposing cities within the Kingdom. To compensate for this, we will increase our operations domestically in the cities supporting our rule, as well as internationally. Additionally, we will initiate a lobbying campaign targeting influential figures in other global kingdoms, advocating for Aponnos' independence. Furthermore, we aim to launch a smear campaign against Mistral."
Aulus wore a jovial smirk, an uncomfortable sight amidst his heavy-set features. "Let's move on to lighter matters." he deeply intoned. Casting a wide gaze along the breadth of the room, seeing as he held the attention of the room, he continued "We will be travelling to the city of Argus to witness the Mistral Regional Tournament and participate in it," he announced, gesturing towards Artos, Aero, Maximus, and Antonis.
What remained unspoken was that this trip provided a convenient excuse for both Father and Mother to meet with their allies in person and attempt to influence Nikos, a long-time friend of Aulus and an important political figure in Argus.
"In two weeks' time, we will embark on an airship. Our first stop will be Ravens Claw for an overnight visit to pick up your brother Raye and get a good night's rest. From there, we will continue the journey to Argus," Aulus explained.
Artos gradually tuned out of the conversation from that point forward, overwhelmed by a growing sense of drowsiness.