Fire Capital (Neutral Ground)
Svorn twisted his hands together with a sigh. Bouncing on the balls of his feet he walked a circle around himself, shaking his hands out, readying his mind.
Around him, the hallway reflected gold light onto him, forming delicate swirls and harsh lines over his skin, making him glow. Globes of fire hovered over the ceiling, flickering all light into a dance.
Below the gold was thick stripes of red, purple and finally black against the floor. Royal colours. Unfortunately, all his clothes were in one of those colours.
He gritted his teeth, pulling his head back, and pushing air past them.
He scanned the ceiling as he wrapped his mind in silence, bringing himself to his character - the Fire Lord. His eyes drifted over each picture engraved there: wars, soldiers spearing other soldiers, hands squeezing around necks with twisted faces gritting teeth at the hands strangling them, demonic figures rising from the earth with ice in their hands only to be destroyed by fire. And then monsters - Fire beasts - killed in every way. Nobles drinking and laughing together, jewels spilling from their fingertips. The council with their stoic expressions, power radiating from them. And a figure of the Fire Lord in the centre, a crown on their head, arms held out to the side - one arm with a sword held out, dripping blood through the different depictions, the other arm holding a fisted hand raised, fire shooting upwards and connecting more depictions.
A second and Svorn's face pulled down in a grimace. Disgusting. But it quickly pulled back to it's blank haughty expression.
A breath.
The Fire Lord walked forward, down the remainder of the door to the giant doors awaiting him. He held his hands out and guards rushed forward to place stone and metal cuffs over his wrists, neutralising any use of his ability - not that it would do much.
Each council member had to wear them when meeting together. It was for a show of trust more than anything else. If they needed to remove them, it was an easy fix.
A large booming thud echoed throughout the space and the gargantuan doors in front of him slowly moved open.
He waited until they were fully open, and entered the room.
His eyes darted to the side, head unmoving. Lord Fawtor. Sitting back in his chair with arms crossed and eyes fixated on him. His face told a story of command and stillness. Which perhaps was scarier than the smirk he usually gave. He knew he held control of the room; he didn't need to make a single sound or movement.
Svorn swallowed and looked away. He wouldn't show a semblance of weakness. It had been a long time. In this situation, dominance belonged to him.
His lone footsteps grew louder as silence overtook the room. Again and again.
He stood in the middle, before them.
A cackle rose over the silence.
He looked towards Lord Cas. "What?"
A bright smile lit up the scantily clad man's face. His large blue eyes glinted as he shifted his head to throw his blonde hair speckled with streaks of dark red out of his eyes. "Three hundred! That's a record - quite a few messengers." His smile widened as he turned to look at the person next to him. "I won the bet."
The large man raised his beefy arms to tie his long dark brown hair back. He looked at Lord Cas. "How much do I owe you?"
Placing his legs crossed on the curved royal table, Cas sat back. "Just five big ones. Hey, are you hungry?"
YOU ARE READING
Frozen Flame
Fantasy[Finished and being edited] Once captured by a distraught king, a fierce warrior is forced to choose between saving his family or his country. But choices are never that simple. ...
