Prisoner

Epilogue

15 years later

The wind blew peacefully over the gray-green landscape of Malor. The sun shone dimly through the cloudy sky. Summer had brought baking heat and dry air that burned the throat as it passed into your lungs.

Outside of the quiet town a ways, the tree on top of the hill was blooming with bright green leaves. Wildflowers of every color and variety peppered the slope.

Among them, a girl in a white dress sat.

Long mouse-colored waves flowed around her young, beautiful face. Her lavender eyes shown as she plucked a purple flower to add to her bouquet. She smiled at it before arranging it among the rest of the flowers.

"Danya!" The voice came from behind her.

The girl shot to her feet and ran to her adoptive father. Torion De Se'el laughed as she ran into his open arms.

"Look, da!" She cried, showing him her flowers. He stroked the petals with light, thing fingers.

"Bea-beautiful, darling. Let us go put them down, then." His voice was as soft and kind as his face.

Danya nodded and took the hand that didn't hold his cane. With the care that she had developed for her patient guardian over the years, she steadied him as they went up to the base of the tree.

Two stones, worn with age, rested side by side over the slightly raised earth. Danya split the flowers into two even sections, laying each one by its respective stone.

Upon the stones, the black lettering still stood our from the dust.

The first one:

Here lies Venia De Se'el. Wife, mother, protector. May her name be forever remembered.

Danya moved to the second one and stroked it affectionately. She had heard the stories about how he had saved her from Torian's friend, who had been there also.

Here lies Adaryn De Se'el. Husband, father, warrior, and revolutionary. He brought our world to what it is, and he will be forever remembered for it.

Danya sat on the ground over her father'a grave and looked up to Torian. The man had a sad look in his clear green eyes.

She reached up and took his hand, making him smile.

They would be alright, she knew. As long as they were together, no one could harm them.

* * *

Demetrius rapped his knuckles on the heavy iron door deep within the stronghold and waited.

The low lighting in the room put a strain on his red eyes as he looked around, not searching for anything in particular.

Finally, the door swung open, and he was faced with a fellow soldier. Benviis. He eyes Demetrius as if he were concerned, then his eyes fell to the scrolls and his expression cleared.

"Is that it?" He asked.

Demetrius nodded curtly.

"Yes. I do not know the response it holds, though. I have waited for our leader to open it. Is he in?" He responded.

Benviis nodded slowly.

"He is. However, it is not one of his better days. He is still in bed. In pain," he explained, his voice softening.

Demetrius frowned thinly, then nodded. Their master had not been in good health since before the death of the evil king years ago. He, however, had continued his work to make Malor great again. Soon, he would be able to become the new king if everything went well.

"I still must see him. He will want to know he had a response."

Benviis nodded understandingly and stepped aside, holding the door so Demetrius could enter.

The Lord's chambers were more well lit than the hallway outside, but not by much. On one side of the room, on a scarlet carpet, sat a table covered with papers and maps, which were also mounted along almost all the walls. Red markings and drawings labeled different areas on the maps, along with notes scrawled in black ink.

Demetrius turned to the other side of the room and approached the deep oak four-poster bed draped with crimson sheets. Against the foot of the bed, the Lord's thin sword, the hilt adorned with rubies and emeralds, and a metal bow sat propped against the wood.

Against one side of the bed, a table  held even more letters and maps and a silver tray of untouched bread, soup, and a cup of wine. On most days, the master was not well enough to eat, for even the simplest act could cause excruciating pain that would leave him crippled.

Demetrius kept his eyes down in respect as he approached the bed.

"My lord, a letter from general Zvaris," he announced.

A moment of silence.

"Bring it here, then." The weak and raspy, yet young voice promoted.

Demetrius moved closer and lifted his eyes to face his master.

The man was quite a sight, and did not like to be reminded of it.

Dressed in a simple white bedshirt, the man was not as adorned as he usually preferred to be in his signature black cloak and tunic with the emerald lining. His pale skin was conceded entirely with ugly scars. His hair and eyebrows had long since stopped growing, leaving his scarred  head bald. His right ear was gone, leaving a hole and flap of skin. In the center of his face, his nose was dis formed as well, along with his mouth. His lips, which should have been brighter colored than the rest of his face, were pulled at odd angles and not colored hardly at all.

The only clue to his age was his bright colored eye. The other was was covered with a black leather patch, to which he had given no explanation, which made the remaining one that much more prominent of his deformed face. The bright purple shone like a star, yet will his failing health was dimmer than usual.

The Lord held out a shaking, scarred hand. A silver ring was  situated on his ring finger and was, like much else, worn with time.

"Let me see it," he croaked, not moving from his place against the pillows, the blankets pulled up to his chest. Demetrius handed the letter over and, when his master had difficulty, helped him open it.

The master read through the letter several times, a weak smile spreading across his ugly face.

"Good news, my lord?" Demetrius asked reverently. The master folded the paper and slowly set it on the bedside table.

"Indeed," he took a deep, exhausted breath, as if the effort of speaking weakened him, "Zvaris has agreed to join forces with us."

Demetrius smiled, knowing what this meant.

"So..."

The master nodded.

"Yes, Demetrius. We are going to take the city that once beloved by Nekros and Zeddikus before him. We will rule Malor and free it from its fallen state," he said, pleased. He looked up at Demetrius.

"Our long time of work and suffering has finally paid off."