For the rest of the morning, Decian wandered the palace grounds. He eventually came to the training ring, to find a crowd watching a fight. Curious, he stepped closer, past all the elven soldiers, who were cheering and shouting. They all stepped away from him the second Decian bumped into them, which would have been offensive if it hadn’t been so useful.

In the middle of the fighting circle, Decian could see Ridley facing off with an elven soldier. He had never met a member of another race before this, so it intrigued him to watch how they fought. The elf moved fluidly, as if it were a dance. It almost seemed like he was more focused on his posture than the fight itself. He kept his back straight, his stance wide, and his off hand behind his back. He looked… Honestly, kind of silly, jumping around, refusing to break his stance in favour of balance… Whereas Ridley was slower; but attacking with force. Decian watched, rather impressed, as he backed the elf up against the fence, and knocked his sword aside. The elves gathered around gasped and shouted at him angrily. Ridley backed off, and the elf grabbed his sword before… Exiting the ring. Decian frowned, remembering what Brabil had said about culture’s differing ways. Back home, there was no way that fight would have ended so easily.

“Who’s next?” Ridley asked, looking around the crowd. He had a breathless, triumphant look about him. His eyes shone as he scanned the crowd. Decian wondered how long he’d been there, duelling elves.

Decian smiled slightly as he hopped over the fence. When Ridley saw him, his eyebrows shot up, and his grin dropped for just a moment before it returned, full blast.

“Hey, Decian right?” He greeted as Decian approached. Decian didn’t notice the man shuffling his feet anxiously.

“Hello, Ridley.” Decian smiled and glanced around. “What are the rules?”

Ridley cocked an eyebrow at him. “W-Well… Standard duel rules, I suppose. Until one of us loses.”

Decian let out a little chuckle and shook his head softly. “I fear your standard duel rules are not the same as mine. We do come from very different places…”

It was then that someone shouted from outside the ring. “Decian!” Brabil called, hopping the fence and walking toward his shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ll have to postpone your duel,” He said, looking between Decian and Ridley, “It’s time to get ready for the meeting.”

The gathered crowd groaned at that. None of them had seen a nocten fight before, and though they would never have admitted it, they had been intrigued to watch. “Very well.” Decian nodded and looked to Ridley. “Perhaps some other time.”

Ridley nodded quickly. “Y-Yep! Some other time.” He grinned nervously and watched Decian turn to walk away.

Brabil patted his arm. “You’re welcome.” He smiled down at the human soldier.

“Thank you.” Ridley whimpered, and cast a nervous glance to Brabil before sheathing his sword and scurrying away. Brabil laughed softly at that, before following his soldier back to the palace.

~~ ~~ ~~

The meeting room was massive and round, found in one of the upper floors of the palace’s tower. There were windows covering more than half the room, save for where the staircases that wound around the tower would have made it impossible. The walls were white, the floor was a polished marble, and the pots that held tall green plants were gold. The table, around which sat the royals of all the kingdoms of Mizhenia, as well as the ones they had chosen to accompany them, was a deep brown, round, and perfectly centered in the room. Decian sat next to his king, stone faced, as they waited for everyone to arrive. King Duraine and Prince Isgellian were sitting next to each other, neither seeming too pleased. Decian saw King Duraine say something to his son, not even looking to him, and watched as Isgellian seemed to shrink in his seat, his glamour glowing brighter. No matter how his posture shrank, though, the political smile remained on his face. Ridley arrived following his king, both breathing hard from the climb. Nine flights of stairs could be daunting for even the most well-trained soldier, it seemed.

When Jedd, the dwarf Decian had met earlier, and his king arrived, he plopped himself heavily into the seat next to Decian and let out a breathy chuckle.

“Ohhhhhhhh gods, we made it.” He panted, hunched over. “Why’d they have ta build their tower so high?”

Decian looked over to see the dwarf was red in the face, leaning heavily on the table. “Are you… Alright?”

“I…” Jedd sucked in a deep breath, “I-I will be…” He let it out heavily before he looked over to Decian and flinched. “Ah. Y-Ya know, yer scary lookin’ when ya don’t smile.”

Decian frowned slightly at that, looking away. Was he supposed to apologise? This wasn’t fun and games, he was on duty… In the end, he just said nothing. Neither of them said anything else. There were only two empty seats left, next to the elven royals. Present at the table were the two human kings and their accompanying soldiers, the two dwarven kings and their best smiths, the satyr king and the small, nervous satyr who sat close next to him, the elven royals of Stelloise, and of course Decian and King Brabil. The king of the forest elves, and his son were the last to come up the stairs, breathing easily and smiling widely.

“Hello, everyone!” The king greeted, walking around to his seat. Decian was surprised to see that his son was so young, still in his adolescent years. “Terribly sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we get started?” His son sat next to Isgellian, and he sat on the other side, folding his hands together on top of the table.

Prince Isgellian barely even looked over to the newcomers, just nodded and smiled faintly to acknowledge their presence. Beside him, his father stood. “Yes, well, now that we’re all here… I’m sure you all know why we’ve come together early. King Aaroldio,” King Duraine gestured to the taller satyr, who smiled to the others at the table, “Believes he has seen the beginning of the Prophecy coming true.”

“I don’t believe I have,” The satyr king frowned, “I have. Me and all of my people have.” His voice was soft and melodic despite his disgruntled tone. Decian watched as he stood, ignoring King Duraine’s scowl, and addressed the meeting. “The prophecy states that the first warning of Bellorn’s return is the children of the child goddess fleeing. That means the animals. I called the meeting when three of my people reported seeing flocks of birds, herds of deer, and colonies of rabbits, all fleeing South. Away from Mount Marhest. Away from the ‘mountain prison’ the prophecy mentions. Since then, I’ve received news of more and more animals travelling south.”

“Alright, I believe we all understand your point.” King Duraine sighed. “You may sit down, King Aaroldio.”

The satyr sat back down with a little huff. The table was silent for a moment, some of the soldiers shifting uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging uncertain glances with one another.

“So,” King Duraine sighed, and looked around the table, “We, clearly, must act. It is why King Aaroldio has requested that you each bring your finest soldier. However, I am willing to send a party of my own men on this mission in their stead. I believe you will find that they are more than qualified. Any objections?”

Decian frowned and rolled his eyes. “I have a few…” He muttered, looking to the table in front of him. His head snapped up again when two things happened at the same time; Brabil pinched his arm, and King Duraine cleared his throat. Decian found the elven king staring at him with hard eyes.

“Is there something you would like to share with the rest of us?” He cocked an eyebrow at him, challenging him. 

Decian was never one to step down from a challenge. Despite Brabil’s concerned stare, he stood, keeping his expression calm.

“With all due respect, King Duraine, the prophecy requests one of each race. It also specifically mentions one will be blessed by Cemect. Are any of your men so hallowed?”

The small satyr man’s eyes went wide, and he looked to his king. But King Aaroldio was too busy watching the ever-so-polite clash between King Duraine and Decian. “Do you truly expect us to waste precious time searching for a man who has been blessed by the gods? The gods who disappeared hundreds of years ago?” Duraine scoffed.

“That, or we could ask King Aaroldio if he knows of such a person. His race is, after all, descended from the god in question.” Both men glared at each other a moment before turning to King Aaroldio. The satyr was grinning widely, and Decian knew in that moment that he was correct in his assumption.

“Everyone, I would like to introduce you to Avaeon,” King Aaroldio announced, patting the man who was trembling next to him on the back, “My companion here has, in fact, been blessed by the god of music.”

Decian’s pride only lasted for a second, until he made a realisation. If one of each race were to be sent, then he would be the one to represent the nocten. He sat down heavily. Across the table, King Duraine took a second to breathe deeply, before he nodded.

“Very well, then… I suppose we will do as the prophecy says.” He barely concealed a frown. “Kings Edward and Boris, you will, of course, need to choose between your soldiers. The same goes for Kings Zavindt and Sireck.” King Duraine nodded toward the humans, then the dwarves, before turning to King Inoren. “As far as who will represent the elves, I would like for Prince Isgellian to go.”

Beside him, the elven prince seemed to suddenly snap to attention. “But--!” He started to say, but silenced himself when the king put a hand on his shoulder. Prince Isgellian swallowed thickly, eyes wide as he flinched back from his father, barely noticeable to the others at the table. It took him a moment to gather himself and regulate his expression.

“He leads our army well and is a highly skilled fighter. I can think of no one better to represent our race. Besides, I don’t believe Prince Antior is yet old enough to take on such a task… What do you say?”

King Inoren looked briefly to his son, then back to Duraine. “I say you make some very convincing points. None of my men who are old enough are here with me, so it is best if you choose which elf will go.”

King Duraine smiled and looked to his son. “Well, Isgellian?”

Isgellian nodded, forcing a smile. “It would be my honour…” He spoke the words as amiably as he could and didn’t look his father in the eye. To Decian, it sounded like he’d nearly choked on them.

He didn’t pay much attention for the rest of the meeting. In all honesty, everything that followed did so in a haze, up until the door of his room shut behind him.

He fell back against it and slid to the floor. If he hadn’t spoken up, he would be leaving for home the next day. Or at least, that’s what he thought. In all honesty, one of the other people at the table would have spoken out against King Duraine’s plans, but as far as Decian knew, it was him who did, so it was him who signed himself up for this ridiculous journey. “I don’t even believe in the prophecy.” He muttered to himself and buried his face in his hands. At the same time as Decian was moping in his room, the human soldiers were duelling, and the dwarven smiths were having their skills tested… somehow, Decian wasn’t sure. He didn’t care, either. He just wanted to go home. Back to his friends, to the darkness, where this damned headache would go away… With trembling hands and shaky breaths, Decian removed his hands from his face, clasping them together. “Darkness,” He started speaking quietly, “Our protector… I may be far from your domain, out here, but please… I pray you grant me solace in these trying times…”

It wasn’t until after he had uttered his brief prayer that he realised yet another aspect of his upcoming travels that would make them unbearable.

Prince Isgellian.

“Damn…” He muttered. He groaned as he stood, making his way to the washing chamber attached to his room. In there was a mirror, and he stared into it. His dark circles were prominent, and he had a frown permanently fixed on his lips. Gently, he pulled the feathers of his earring free from where they had tangled into his long black hair. “If he treats me with political coldness, then I will treat him the same… If he treats me like scum, I won’t hide my distaste for him, either…” He muttered to himself, staring down at them. “If he treats me with kindness, then I will return it…” He thought back to when he had first met the prince. To his hand left unshaken in the air. To the disgusted look on the elf’s face… He very much doubted that the elf would ever treat him with kindness.

This would be a long journey…