The Legend of Lost Aulta

3. The First Dream

FELIKS

Upon returning to the throne room, Feliks found himself lost in a crowd of consorts and advisors, each lining up before his father to kneel and make their pleas and advice. His determination slowly dwindling, Feliks watched awkwardly, unable to speak.

Stepan returned to his side in the fray, and escorted him to his seat at his father's side. His chest heavy, Feliks rested his head in his hand, unable to look anywhere but into the blackness that consumed his busy mind. There was a chance for him to save his country, to rewrite his mistakes. But could he do it?

"You look troubled, moi Tsarevich," said the kind voice of his guard, "I understand that this is difficult news."

"I can do something about it," said Feliks, and he looked up weakly, "I spoke to my mother."

"You spoke to the Goddess?" Stepan looked shocked, "I did not know you were able to do that, your highness."

"I did not know either," he smiled, "but she told me. She has blessed others. She needs me to find them. With them, I will be able to find Dimitri, and return him home."

Stepan startled, "that is a big task for you, Tsarevich Feliks. You know that you are too unwell. Your father would never allow it."

"But he would allow us to be driven from our country?" Feliks sighed, "we were given this land. It is our own, given by the Gods. I was given by them, too. My purpose is to protect Aulitia, and who am I if I cannot save it?"

Stepan rested a calloused hand on the Tsarevich's shoulder, "it does not fall to you. Your father's men are sent to protect our land. They are well and able, you are not."

"And whose fault is that?" exclaimed Feliks, "I was the one, too weak to stand against Vorig. I could not fulfil my destiny. And now I have a chance to, and... and I am too scared."

"It is the fault of the Ollossians, not you," said the guard, gently, "you were only a child. You were not given the chance to learn to protect us."

"And yet my brother could."

"Your brother was a mighty warrior. You were a mighty healer. None of us expected you to fight off an Orcish army. You are too harsh to yourself, moi Tsarevich," said Stepan, "I do not believe that setting off into the unknown is a good idea."

"Neither do I," admitted Feliks, "I... I am scared."

The guard smiled gently.

"Then leave it to us," he said, "we will protect Aulta with all we have. And if we fail... we can bless another land. With your kind rule. With our unrelenting optimism. We can start again. Doesn't a life without war sound wonderful?"

Feliks thought for a moment, before nodding quietly, "...I suppose you are right."

The guard smiled, "now, rest, Tsarevich Feliks. You have had a rather stressful morning."

Stepan then stood to the side, looming steadily over the throne, and Feliks watched the room. He saw row after row of desperate consorts and generals, men in military uniforms with various golden badges pinned on their fronts with pride. They looked war-worn and hopeless, pleading to the Tsar for more time to fight. No-one wanted to give up their home, the lives they had built, and neither did the Tsarevich. His heart ached with it.

As the day wore on, the sun slipped from the sky, painting the landscape in a burnt orange. Feliks watched from out of the huge windows- another day gone. Who knew what the Ollosians were planning, where they were. Who knew how soon it would have to be before they made their decision- flee, or fight?