The Stone was sundered.
The Sky was rent.
The Sea was boiling.
A Storm covered all that was.
Only Steel stood.
Only a Man.
Only Steel.
Only a Man.
Cassiel had grown accustomed to his dark dreams, 'Visions' as Sinead had called them, brought forth from the divine power that slumbered within. The Seed of Creation. The Power of Hope, itself. For over twenty years, the King of the Raven Islands had been plagued with such a 'Gift'.
Ever since he had taken his own Brother prisoner.
Cassiel had almost slain him that fateful night, Ta N'illem Tu Brotta Swarra, The Night of Brotherly Swords. Almost. Almost, but he held his Steel, he denied his Family their vengeance. For over twenty years Castor has rotted in the darkest pit of The Crag, and for over twenty years did dark visions plague the aging King.
King.
The word itself carried weight. Would his Father had spared such treasonous kin? Would Yuriel The Raven King, First of the Ravencourts, had spared such cowardice ilk? These were the thoughts Cassiel came to slumber with. These were the hauntings of a mind wracked with guilt and burden. Even Raelle had attempted to lay wisdom upon his weary mind, and yet, she could not know.
She could never know.
For as she had become Queen of the Islands, and Embraced it flawlessly, she could never truly understand the Hell that awaited those that slew their own kin. Passed down from myth and legend, the fires of this Hell were what he thought awaited him, if he slaked his murdered Father's Sword on his Treacherous Brother's blood.
Son must never kill Father. Brother must never kill Brother.
Kilna muska nahiir slaazen Kilna.
Kin must never slay Kin.
Father.
Another heavy word, for what was a Father but what legacy he gifted upon his children.
Father.
Cassiel remembered his Father. He remembered Craetus, Son of Crytus. He remembered the last look that his Father's face ever held. Horror. Horror and Shame. Horror as his own blasphemous Son plunged his sword through his chest. Shame, for the Son that stood their and watched.
Father.
Watched, and did nothing.
"FATHER!"
Corbin's voice woke him to a startle, his hand slipping beneath his pillow for Mageblade, a Dagger that could become a Sword, gifted to him by Shelzi, former Goddess of Magic, it was nigh Unbreakable.
The Dagger was not needed. The King was. Corbin spoke quickly, but the message was clear. Raylinn had run away.
Raylinn.
His little Ray of Sunshine. His Light of Creation. His Daughter...
Gone.
Cassiel could see the look in his Son's eyes. Fire. Fire and focus. Cassiel knew well the bond between Corbin and Raylinn. It was much the same as Cassiel and Cassandra. Love.
Pure, and loyal Love.
As Corbin turned to walk away, Cassiel stood from his bed furs, "Corbin," he called sternly, "Come here."
Corbin stopped stiff, as if debating whether to continue about his mind's work, or heed his Father. Like the true Prince he was, he heeded his Father's call, stepping back in to shadow the doorway.
Cassiel, with the humility of an Islander, stood from bed, as clothed as the moment he was born. He crossed the room, and laid hand upon his son's shoulder. Stormy grey hues locked with the deepest, bluest Sea.
"Open your mind to me, My Son. Let me see."
With great hesitation, Corbin relaxed, closed his eyes, and laid his hand upon his Father's shoulder. The Link was Complete.
Cassiel saw everything.
"Goodnight, Father." She had smiled so sweetly. Cassiel had kissed her on the forehead.
"Goodnight, my little Ray of Sunshine." He heard himself say. His little Ray of Sunshine. Gone. Had he but seen it?
She approached. "Goodnight, Corbin." The look. Corbin saw it, and yet, did nothing.'Goodbye'. He heard it, yet denied it. He knew her mind, but never said the words. Stop, Sister. Don't Leave. Please.
The Sword. The Father. Seen, but nothing done.
Cassiel knew. He understood the burden his Son felt. That was Corbin's Ward, a bond that is brought through the Spirit of the Ancestors. A Bond...
That could never be Broken.
That's when the Flood came. Too much emotion. Too quickly. Too closely linked. Cassiel was literally thrown from his Son by the force of its terrible magic, a magic Cassiel had for many years denied.
He understood then. Corbin was angry. Angrier than he'd seen his Son in some time. Not sense Corbin had almost taken his Sister's eye in a spar, and scarred her flesh.
He saw Corbin's intentions. He heard the plans in his head. He heard Raelle's words.
I'm going to Tyran.
"Tell Seran Blacktyde to get the Crucible in the water. I'll prepare Divine Intervention. Your Mother shall captain the Dauntless Fury. We'll raise two thousand Spears and sail them to Tyran, and Corbin....
We will find her."
"What of the Throne? What of the People?" Asked the young Prince.
"Your Aunt, Princess Cassandra shall see to the rule of Ravenhall, and the Islands." (Cont)
"We shall go South to Tyran, and find Raylinn, and figure out why she left us."
There was a look, brief but strong, exchanged between Father and Son, and then it was gone, and so was Corbin.
Cassiel arrived on the docks to see more than two thousand Spears gathered, and awaiting Royal command. Corbin stood at the head, adorned in boiled leather, ready for seafaring travel, with his Greatsword, 'Sunder' upon his back.
'I must get that boy a true blade, one day.. ' Cassiel thought, as he passed his Son, giving naught but a solemn nod as he did.
Through he walked, until he reached his Flag Ship, The Divine Intervention, a Ship created by Tyran's former Goddess of Power, Dreanna, and outfitted for War by it's former God of Destruction himself, Dezuka. The Divine Intervention was a seafaring calamity, capable of leveling a small fleet or city in its own right, a superb piece of Naval combat technology unmatched, by current knowledge, by any other ship in the world.
Cassiel looked to Seran Blacktyde, standing prow on the Crucible, laden with over four hundred Blacktyde Marines.
Nod.
Nod.
He looked to Prince Corbin standing at the helm of the Sword of the Sea, which sat at the front of the small armada.
Nod.
Nod.
Finally, and with great weight and purpise held in the depths of those glossing, Steel grey orbs, did the aging Raven King look to his Queen, standing proud and beautiful at the helm of the Dauntless Fury, her personally designed warship.
So beautiful.
So proud.
Nod.
Nod.
"SHAELLASA!!! SHAELLASA TURA PRASHA RAYLINN! SHAELLASA TURA URA UNDA! SHAELLASA TURA URA ANSA! SHAELLASA NUSA TURA *TYRANI*!!!"
...SAIL!....
....SAIL FOR PRINCESS RAYLINN!...
...SAIL FOR YOUR HONOR! ....
...SAIL FOR YOUR ANCESTORS!...
....SAIL, NOW, FOR TYRAN!.....
