“Darkness is coming to Haldor, our land will be engulfed in blood and death. Only the true heir, the chosen one, can save our land from such fate,” prophesied Destiny as her blue-tinged brown eyes looked into the future. Destiny was seven years old and the youngest of the three Oracle’s incarnations. She wore a long, light blue robe. Her long, golden hair flowed down the floor unhampered. A blue fireshadow more than twice her size almost dwarfed her child form as it silently burned without wood or oil behind her. The fireshadow was also the symbol of the Oracle’s power over time and life.

A year ago, Destiny was still called Sheana Valore. She was just the six-year-old child of an ordinary merchant family from the region of Risine located in the eastern part of Haldor. When the invitation for all young girls in the land of Haldor was sent by the Oracle, she was among the hundreds of children that were brought by their families to the Oracle’s temple. The oldest incarnation of the Oracle, Memory, had died, turning the former incarnation Wisdom into the new Memory and the incarnation Destiny into Wisdom. A new Destiny was needed and of all the young girls brought to the temple, Sheana Valore was chosen. Her old life and name had been discarded when she became Destiny, the incarnation of the Oracle that could see the future.

King Saxon, the current ruler of Haldor, and the five regents who presided over the five regions of the land and also acted as official advisers to the king were given summons through a dream early this morning. The dream sent by the Oracle instructed them to go to the temple immediately. An Oracle’s summon, specially one that concerned a future vision was never ignored. All six now stood in silence in the inner sanctum of the temple even after Destiny had delivered her vision of the future. The dark future foretold had caused distress to everyone.

The great blue fireshadow behind Destiny flickered and changed its color. It became a bright, burning, yellow fireshadow. Destiny disappeared and in her place stood a woman wearing a light yellow robe. She was the Wisdom incarnation of the Oracle. Her long hair that cascaded down to the floor was the color of night. She was the Oracle’s incarnation who could see the present and the truth in every person’s heart.

“You must prepare your son, King Saxon,” commanded the steady voice of Wisdom. “He must undergo the ritual of the Sword of Truth on his eighteenth birthday. If your son is chosen, he will lead us to fight and defeat the coming darkness. Haldor must be saved at all cost!”

The King bowed his head in deference. He had ruled Haldor for more than three decades. But it had always been his duty to obey the words of the Oracle. The Oracle had guided him all through these years. Like all the kings before him, he was chosen by the Sword of Truth when he reached the age of twenty. The responsibility to rule, protect and ensure peace and prosperity in the world of Haldor had since then rested on his shoulders.

The regions of Gorge, Risine, Mussur, Yore and Ferrest owed allegiance and loyalty to King Saxon who ruled from the City of Solaris, the capital of the land of Haldor. King Saxon commanded the vast army of Haldor but when the Oracle spoke, he followed without question and hesitation. Even the regents could not defy the words spoken by the Oracle.

Haldor owed its peace and prosperity to the guidance of the Oracle. No one questioned her words. Because the Oracle’s words had always been considered as truth and above the laws of men. Most of the laws of Haldor had even been based on the words of the Oracle. To question the words of the Oracle was considered blasphemy and punishable by death.

The five regents, three men and two women, now bowed their heads in respect to the orders of the Oracle.

Wisdom slightly bowed her head to the six people before her, acknowledging their presence and the position they held before she walked out of the inner sanctum. The yellow fireshadow floated and followed her like a meek servant.

King Saxon turned to the five regents. He would need the advice and thoughts of the regents concerning his only child and the future of Haldor. Through the years, Saxon had gained the regents’ trust, respect and more importantly their friendships. They mutually decided the fate of Haldor based on the Oracle’s words.

Lady Lithia of Yore spoke first. She was a small woman yet she had always been the most outspoken among the five regents. Most people attributed her spirited ways to her fiery red hair she refused to cut or even decorate with flowers or pins.

“Is Wright really ready for this? Most of Haldor’s kings were chosen after they had reached their twentieth year.”

King Saxon smiled.

“Wright had been trained to become my successor since the moment he was born. And with the coming of this prophesied darkness, we will need his courage and strength to guide us all.”

“I wish Destiny had told us more about this darkness,” commented Thorn, the Regent of the Ferrest region. He was the shortest of the regents, yet no one could beat him in arm wrestling. Ferrest folks were known throughout Haldor for their upper body strength. “Why can’t the Oracle be clear once and for all about her prophecies? Most of the time, I can’t make heads or tails of what the Oracle was actually talking about!” Thorn grumbled.

Lord Falstaff of Gorge laughed. King Saxon had known him since they were children. Together they had sneaked out of their bedrooms to get a glimpse of the steel railways as it was being built then for the Gorge trains that now travelled through Ferrest and connected Gorge to the City of Solaris. They had both etched their names on one of those steel tracks to commemorate their first daring adventure together.

Nothing fazed Falstaff. He was as tall as the king but more broad shouldered. Unlike King Saxon who had managed to maintain the lean masculinity of their youth, Falstaff’s middle had begun to thicken resulting to his preference to loose tunics and coats rather than the body-hugging upper body clothes preferred by King Saxon. But Falstaff’s attitude remained. He was still a man who laughed at the face of danger. Most men from Gorge had this kind of bravery. They had to because of the harsh climate and terrain of that region. It was no surprise that ten of Haldor’s past kings came from Gorge. Most of them were from the Numberg family bloodline, where Saxon belonged.

When Saxon was chosen by the Sword of Truth decades ago to become king, everyone had been expecting it. Even if it were a surprise, no one would ever question the choice of the Sword of Truth. Ever since the Sword of Truth had chosen the first king of Haldor, it had never made a mistake. All the chosen kings had proven themselves worthy of the title and position.

Being king seemed to be the destiny of most members of the Numberg family. And when King Saxon’s son, Wright, was born, everyone including himself had assumed that Wright would be his heir and successor.

When the Oracle instructed King Saxon to train and prepare Wright to become king, it was the sign he and the Numberg family had been waiting for. Wright had truly become the legitimate and rightful heir to the throne of Haldor. And with these new visions and pronouncements from the Oracle, Wright’s place on the throne and in the history of Haldor had been further strengthened.

“Who cares what this darkness is!” Falstaff snorted. “We just have to prepare ourselves and hack it to pieces! Then burn it to ashes.”

“Not everything can be solved by brute strength, Falstaff,” came the calm reminder of Lady Viviane, the Regent of Risine. She had only been regent for five years yet like the other regents had become King Saxon’s closest friend. The former Regent of Risine, Lady Sisame had retired five years ago. The official reason was her advanced age of sixty years. But everyone knew that the real reason was of Lady Sisame’s continued increase in size and weight, due mostly to her sweet tooth, making travel by air balloon nearly impossible. The famed air balloons of Risine could still carry the heavy bulk of Lady Sisame, but alas, the lady could barely carry herself in and out of the balloon basket without any help from her entourage. Some naughty bards had even begun singing songs about Lady Sisame’s weight being the cause of her air balloon not being able to fly higher than six feet above the ground.

Travel by land or by sea from Risine to the City of Solaris was too slow and a regent’s duty was to come in all haste to the City of Solaris when summons from the Oracle or King Saxon were issued. Lady Sisame who had always been a practical woman decided to retire from her post and choose her successor, Lady Viviane. Since King Saxon and the other regents also approved of Lady Sisame’s chosen successor, the turnover of the Regency of Risine was quickly done but with the proper celebrations due to a new regent.

Lady Viviane, aside from her young age of thirty-one, was also thin and slender and was a famed air balloon flyer. She was also the complete opposite of Lithia. While Lithia was always described as fiery, Viviane, with her light brown hair and quiet demeanor was like the calm deep waters of the ocean surrounding the land of Haldor. But Viviane’s mind was sharp and nothing could ever get past her.

“Most of the time, problems can be solved by simply being creative,” continued Lady Viviane.

King Saxon glanced at Lord Amado. Lord Amado had remained silent all this time. He was the oldest among them. He had ruled Mussur even during the reign of Saxon’s great grandfather, Religate. Even Amado’s fashion style reminded everyone of the past. Amado had kept his long, white beard when every man had followed King Saxon’s style of remaining clean-shaven. Saxon believed that a beard hid a man’s true purpose hence he had discarded it to show his true intentions to the people of Haldor.

“Have you fallen asleep again, Amado?” Saxon jested as he noticed his friend’s half-closed eyes.

“Sleeping and contemplating are two different things, young Saxon,” Amado retorted. “And in case you are wondering what I am currently doing, I am meditating on the Oracle’s visions. And meditation means having deep thoughts.”

King Saxon at age fifty-five had long since lost his youth. In spite of his age, King Saxon’s sword arm was as lethal as ever. He had kept his body in shape and could still defeat and humiliate any man half his age in a fight. But worry lines now marred his once youthful face and his hair had begun to show streaks of silver.

But Amado would always see Saxon as a youth because of the regent’s age. Rumors had it that Amado was born during the time when air balloons and trains haven’t yet been invented in Haldor. Which would put Amado’s age way beyond the century mark.

“Do tell us, old man, what these thoughts are?” teased Falstaff.

Amado’s face became serious.

“It’s about your son, Saxon. He may be brave and intelligent. But he also has a tendency to bend rules when he can’t follow them.” Amado was Wright’s godfather and knew the young prince’s penchant for trouble.

“All youths do that,” argued Falstaff. “In fact, when I was young, I don’t just bend them, I break them!”

“But you have reformed,” Amado reminded Falstaff. “The Oracle did not tell us when this darkness is coming. I am afraid, Wright might not have enough time to reform his ways to become a true leader before this danger is upon us.”

“There is something about what the Oracle Wisdom has said that bothers me, Saxon,” Viviane looked uneasy. “She said, ‘if your son is chosen’. Does it mean that someone else could be chosen other than Wright?”

“Impossible!” Saxon was incredulous. “He has every quality needed to become our next king. His bloodline comes from the best of Gorge. No one could compare to him. Unless one of you has found someone more worthy than my son to be our future king?” he looked directly at each of the five regents, challenging them.

“We have found no one more worthy than Wright,” Amado’s voice broke the silence. “And I am confident that the Sword of Truth will choose him, the same way it had chosen you before, King Saxon.”