The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~Shadows Speak; Shadows Speak Truth~

Kelan and I ride through scarlet. A sweet surrendering scent of the moist morning dew cascades all around the sublime forest. The crinkling leaves from tall trees lay scattered on the forest floor; in the motion of turning a brittle brown. The dark shadows of the voluminous trees and overhanging bushes appear as thick as structures.

The rising sun ascends in a hurry, as if foreshadowing the imminent doom to come. The rays of first light reach for the sky, desperate fingers groping the aether, quick to rouse those asleep. Awake.

"How is your arm?"

Kelan's voice is like a blade that cuts through the concrete gloom in my chest. The deep thrum of his baritone voice offers more than comfort. But a sense of mutual certainty.

My mind strays to the ephemeral moment of passion we shared. One that required an eternity of waiting but even with such fleetingness it rewarded me with eternal bliss....His skin warming mine, each muscle honed to lethal perfection, the strength of his touch both hard and gentle all at once. His lips. Oh, those lips. Such a galaxy of taste provokes me to ponder on when shall I sample them again.

"Aurora?"

I sniff sharply. "What." My voice excessively high. I clear my throat too many times. "It is—I am well."

"You are lying." His exhales a long breath, sifting through my plaited tresses. "I saw you wincing when you were dressing."

A blush creeps up my cheeks, my lips quirking. "You were watching me dress?"

"No—" he stops. His breathing quickens before he swiftly commands his composure. "I meant, when you were dressing the wound with a new gauze."

"It is as I said before," I say insolently.

With his arms encircled around me. He lifts his hand to test his observation by gingerly squeezing the top part of my arm. An inch above the graze and I squirm like a child being tickled.

"Yes, very well I see," he says flatly.

I shirk him off with a rough jerk of my shoulder. His hand returns to the reins.

"Merely a flesh wound. I have suffered much worse at the hands of my masters."

A compact silence envelops us, multifaceted with layers of tensions. I can sense his strongly. An agglomeration of old and new qualms that have merged to take a form of a colossal fiend, sinking its talons into him.

I steal a look over my shoulder. "What is it?"

"It would take either of the Four Legions days to reach the Pantheon, even with the armada of air warships," he divulges. "Emikrollian forces have the tactical advantage if they are positioned in the triple frontiers. They can attack Avangard targets in mere hours to breach the front-lines. I can only hope that the battle platoons in the City of Old can hold them at bay just long enough for cavalries to arrive." Anger radiates from him palpably. "Then the might of the Avangard will dash them to pieces."

I nod stiffly, failing to comprehend the magnitude of the descending peril. "Is there no way you can send a portal message to the closest... Vanguard garrison, even? Anything is better than nothing."

"And by doing so we risk tipping them off, causing them to invade promptly. If they succeed and they kill the High King...the last of the Qhar line. It will plunge Urium into pandemonium, ripe for Regnum Ethane to take power."

I release an explosive breath.

For a while I brace against the clamour of my own thoughts, pelted by a million alternatives of how this will culminate, and it all ends the same. There is only one victor, and that is death. Mustering will, I combat the adverse thoughts with seemingly unfeasible positive outcomes and possibilities.