CYAN | ONC 2022

10

Aryzath donned a velvet red cape with a hood, long as his body that almost touched and swept the floor as he walked. It wasn't a new experience — sneaking out of the castle. But this was one of the rare times he had to exit through the front for it wasn't the forest he was going into but to the town. As he descended down stone stairs and landed on grey pavements with a slight thump, the awkwardness of having to disguise himself was settling in.

What more, it felt almost foreign to be navigating past the long pathway to the front gates where it was currently open, gold spikes raised above his head. There were soldiers stationed at each side of the entrance but they didn't stop him. Flicking the hood over his head, he ignored them and stepped out of compound of what he called home.

Immediately, there was a change in the atmosphere. While the inside of the castle had an oppressing aura, here was a different story. Just a step outside and everything was full of browns and greens on either side of a small pathway leading straight ahead.

Even the air smelt different.

It was earthier, almost resembling the scent of his praying incenses. Fresh yet with a hint of something in the air that made him relax — calmer than he had been feeling before.

Ilayda's words had haunted him for a few days after she had questioned him about his people.

Truthfully, he had no idea how they lived. He could only assume they were well taken care of — including the people whom this kingdom had conquered. Surely, Father would make sure that there was no unfairness in their society. But that thinly veiled hope was nothing more than a leaf hanging by a small, tiny branch, ready to be swept away by a gust of wind. In this case, the wind resembled reality, ready to knock on his door.

He shook his head.

While he could have lived in ignorance, he had to admit — he was curious if what Ilayda said was true. Half of him hoped she was wrong.

Come on, time to do this.

Curling his fingers into fists, he forced his body to move and walk down the soil pathway, created only after many carriages and people walking to and fro from the town and elsewhere.

Right ahead of him was a stone bridge where flags of his kingdom was high up in the sky on a few poles placed on every two stone blocks on either side of this overpass. The flags were dyed in maroon and a symbol of the White Dragon was etched on them — his ancestor and the one who seemed to have bestowed blessings to his royal blood.

Every Dragonkind knew, especially those of royal descent, that the White Dragon had appeared and taken over this lands as his resting place, deciding henceforth that his heirs would then protect this place with his powers.

If that story was true, then the Sire did nothing but fool Father into thinking she was their blessing.

His fingers itched to touch his arm where her symbol was casted on him since he was a fledgling. There had only been one time he met her. Sitting on her throne made out of emerald and gold and dressed from head to toe in blacks and similar shades of green with a snake hanging by her neck, she had glared down onto him as Father made him bow on his knees to her.

Her magic was cold before her mark appeared on his body, branding him as hers. To do whatever she wanted with him.

Right there and then he knew one thing and one thing only.

He never wanted to meet her again.

A gust of wind blew at his face, almost tossing the hood off from his head. Aryzath managed to hold onto it last minute and quickened his pace. Wide waters on either side of this stone bridge gave an illusion that the town was far from the castle. When he glanced over his shoulders, his eyes widened just a tad to see that slight mist was already covering the foreboding palace.