261st Note: Deuces is a card game where the objective of the game is to win with the highest combination, from the lowest to the highest in order: singles, pairs, triples, straight, flush, full-house, four of a kind, straight flush, royal flush. The uniqueness of this game though, is that the card 2 is the highest - it's higher than Ace. Therefore, victory is usually achieved by either the highest combination or by possessing 2s. It's relevant to the theme of the story alongside the idea of pairs, so I thought I should explain it beforehand. You may now read on; thanks!
Chapter 0: Prologue ~The End of Something is Only the Beginning of Another~
"Hah.. ha… hrgh… hah…" The sound of rapid and erratic breathing amidst the dark hallways of the unlit mansion was the only audible sound that accompanied the sound of shifting metal.
"Hah… damn… can't believe this! … Bastards, all of them… traitorous scumbags… urgh… move, damn legs… hah…" That voice drew closer, and the shifting metal became apparent as an armored greave stepped past the raised curtains to the giant ornate window.
A deluge threatened to shatter the window from the outside, and the grounds below remained illegible due to the mists that ascended from the rain. Though everything was obstructed from view, the owner of that voice knew that they were outside. Cursing his bad luck, the man dragged his left foot with his remaining, usable right arm and limped forward on his good foot.
The pain that lanced through each step was more than any normal man could handle. As a flash of lightning struck the distant landscape – enough light to light up the man that gasped and gritted through every breath as he moved further down the hallway.
He had short gray hair stuck to the scalp as soft remnants of the rain continued to trail down his lean face, cut in multiple areas from shards of metal and glass. Thin trails of blood were streaming down his forehead from an almost fatal blow only hours ago. His broad templar coat, an armor masterpiece – one of the most durable and strongest within the kingdom of Ashrandia – now only served to add to his burden. Dented in numerous areas, with cracks running through the crevices between the movable joint areas and the weaker flank areas, the plate mail suffered what could only be remnants of a great battle that the man had endured. Most of the blood stains had been washed away from the deluge, yet broken metal from swords, spears, and even a battle-axe, still adhered to the coat, as if it were their last resting place after their weapons were shattered and broken while the man triumphed in battle.
Yes, the brunt of the damage were barely averted by this body armor, but from waist down, where the chainmail beneath extended downward only to have more plate leggings attached in order to protect the hips, through the steel leggings that embedded tightly to the legs to support and protect the limbs beneath and the heavy greaves covering his feet, blood originated from unseen wounds and dripped onto the velvet carpet with each step he took.
The man was dying. Despite his arsenal, blades and arrows found their mark through the weaker areas of the armors, and because he lacked time, the man refused to tend to his wounds. Instead, he returned back to this mansion, back to this place, the last memories of him and his beloved, to finish one final task, or die trying.
Thunder echoed through the sky in the distance the same moment that the man bashed the mahogany door open, one that protected the chamber within. As he entered this room of pure darkness, the man managed to mutter something in-between his rasp breaths. In an instant, light flared within the solitary space, consuming the darkness that had remained just moments before.
Wasting no time, the templar made his way toward the bookshelf furthest away in this square study, dragging his now-useless leg forward. Attempting to wipe away the flowing blood on his head that threatened to blind one of his eyes, the master of this estate grimaced and slid his hand out of the bloodstained gauntlets.
Peering through the numerous books and catalogues of this world's past, the man found the one he was looking for: a thin paperback that read in the ancient language: Gates of the Abyss ~ Fact or Fiction.
When he pulled it, mechanical sounds emitted from behind, and the shelf revealed itself to be a secret door before the man clad in broken armor.
Sensing that time was short, he struggled down his last breath and tried to knock away the dizziness he was already experiencing, knowing that he was bleeding to his grave. Seizing his remaining fortitude, the templar struggled onward and entered the room before the stone wall slid shut behind him.
Before the knight was a beautiful, candle-lit room. With velvet tapestry dangled on the sides, they seemed to honor the one giant portrait of his late wife, Cecilia Seraph Fyran.
"Heh… I'm home… Cecil." Greeting her portrait as if she were still just as young and beautiful like the portrait, the templar, Sheba Fyran, finally decided to take a break from his relentless march.
"So… did you watch them over, as you always do, my dearest?" He spoke after the five-second break, struggling to get up from where he had sat down.
Although there was no answer, the soft breathing in the decorated and warm room unlike the man's erratic inhales and exhales were more than enough to bring a soft smile from the hardened visage of a man that had seen too many battles.
"Heh… thank you Cecil, I'll… take over from here then." Perhaps speaking from past reveries, Sheba refused death's calling and dragged his body toward the source of the soft breathing sounds – the carriage made of the finest Maplewood, small enough to house only one possibility.
Within the cradle was a soft bed with silk blankets, and beneath them, sleeping soundly, were two infants, their small chests rising and falling in synch, not a care in the world, cute little bundles of joy.
"Hi there, my beautiful children… daddy's home…" Said the templar, wounds and bleeding momentarily forgotten. Even the steel visage of a man unafraid of his death could look so gentle and kind when his blue eyes gazed upon his last remaining treasures on this forsaken world.
The two infants were both girls, yet they did not look like the portrait of the mother, who bore golden hair and green eyes, or Sheba, possessing gray hair and icy blue pupils. In fact, despite being of the same age, the two girls didn't even share the same hair or eye color. One of them had a soft lawn of black hair, while the other of scarlet shade. Although their eyes were closed, Sheba could recall accurately that one had eyes of gold, while the other silver. Born with golden or silver eyes was extremely rare within Ashrandia, and they were his only daughters, merely one year old, and irreplaceable treasures not only to him, but also to his wife, Cecilia.
Whilst they slept, their small heads barely touching each other, and between them was a silver necklace that shone brightly under the candlelight. It was nothing special; there was only a single pendant attached to the chain: It was the symbol of the crescent moon and sun joined together. The sun was made of the gem citrine, and the moon of white sapphire. They were stones assigned to them, not only because of their two eye colors, but also because they were a perfect match to their birthday.
Stroking their cheeks fondly with his exposed index finger, Sheba appeared lost in a trance, for at this moment, he looked nothing like a battered warrior, but only as a father who wished to see his children – knowing that it will be the last time.
Crashing sounds and shattering glass could be heard in the distant seconds later. Though they were distant noises, the templar quickly caught it with his acute hearing. Knowing now that time was short, for both himself and the two sleeping infants, Sheba reassessed what his final task was.
"Well, time's up. So daddy must go now. Don't worry; even if I'm away, your mother will watch over you both. Heh, I won't let them get away with spouting lies. This world won't change for the better even if they had it their way. Just you watch me, damn cowards, I will break the chains of fate, even if it means going against everything else!" Gripping his injured arm, Sheba could feel the blood that ran down every one of his wounds, sticking his broken flesh with the tattered metals. A growing headache and cold chill were threatening to disable even his still functioning limbs, but gritting his teeth, the man refused to go down without completing the task before they arrive.
Returning to look through the cradle, the infants' father picked up the pendant with his trembling hands, and as he uttered something in the lost language of the ancients, the moon and the sun, once whole and together, split into two perfect fragments with a small spark of golden light. Tucking the golden sun next to his black-haired daughter, Sheba proceeded to tuck the white-silver moon next to her sister whose traces of hair reflected the colors of dying embers.
Shedding a single tear, their father watched as the two babies stirred softly, still deep in slumber. Tucking both in tight, the templar completed his chant. A bright light enveloped the cradle as he finished, then as an unfathomable force lifted the babies from where they slept, suspended in the air still covered in blanket, the gems they each possessed flashed brightly before merging into a giant beam of white light that rose to the sky, puncturing a hole through the ceiling and out of the house.
A moment later, the same light engulfed the two infants and disappeared from within the chamber, only to merge than split into two shooting stars, going at opposite directions to places only Sheba knew.
"You'll watch over them, won't you, Cecil? I'll be counting on you." Giving one last longing look to the portrait, Sheba turned to greet the new intruders as a giant explosion rocked the mansion, destroying the walls that had protected this lone chamber in secret.
"That's him, General Sheba Fayran! Stop right there, General! Do not resist, for we have you surrounded!" That single voice followed by a rampage of footsteps and shouts of men told Sheba all he needed to know without the speaker.
"Oh? So the House of the Centaur finally shows up eh?" Sheba responded, fearless despite the numerous figures that had entered the room, covering every corner to seal off his escape. Fools, he thought, from the moment that he had retreated to his home Sheba never even considered escaping.
"It matters not what house we belong to. We are here only to serve our allegiance to the late King of Ashrandia, and to apprehend the treasonous individual, you, General Fayran!" The speaker stepped forward, clad in heavy armor that would normally be geared on a war stallion, except it was now attached to a Centaur at least seven foot tall and possessing silver mane.
"Oh? And what treasonous crime did I commit for you to have come all this way personally, General Sagra?" Laughing broadly despite his injuries, Sheba stood his ground and stared boldly at the giant of a Centaur.
"For your betrayal to your country, and brutal murder of the King and Queen themselves!" The Centaur called Sagra responded furiously, his nostrils flaring, two broad, muscular arms holding giant battle axes each.
"Oh? So I did… well, to tell you the truth… heh, I'm rather tired of their rule. They are not monarchs worthy of our sworn loyalty, not since when they were brainwashed by that black cult!" The Templar's smile turned cold, as he remembered the incident that he personally experienced. Yes, everything was their fault, and how dare they try to…
"It matters not what you think, Sheba. The King had every right to rely on the Church's magic, if we are to even hope to see the end of this war. I can't guarantee your safety anymore, despite old times, but at the very least, hand over your two daughters. With them, we can at least hope to save this kingdom, if not the entire world." Sensing the determination in the Templar's voice, or possibly seeing the numerous injuries he had sustained, General Sagra softened, his battle axes slightly lowered and his tone dropping to a more civil manner.
"Heh… so you are tricked by that absurd prophecy as well? You do realize how much they mean to me, and that I'm a stubborn man, even more so a stubborn father. Try as you may, but because I am a father, I will never let them get their hands on them, even if the entire world is my enemy!" Sheba roared in resolution, and though he was weaponless, everyone within the half-destroyed chamber unconsciously stepped back a few steps.
Seeing how his old comrade still bore the burning lights of determination, like when the candle burnt its brightest before disappearing, the Centaur sighed and readied his weapon once more.
"Then so be it. Here is where we draw the line. I will either have to take you down by force; or your head if I have to. There's no hope to resist your fate; not for you, your late wife, or the two daughters." Sagra announced the ultimatum, but Sheba didn't care. Whether it be friend or comrade or enemy, anyone that stand in his way from fulfilling the promise he made to Cecilia will face his wrath and his remaining life!
"Heh, you are too late anyway. The wheels of fate have already turned in my favor; as I had said before, I'll never let you or anyone else touch my dearest treasures, even if it's at the cost of my own life!" He shouted valiantly, pain and disabled limbs were meaningless, for he summoned the ancient language once more, and a giant claymore formed in his right hand.
With nothing else left behind, Sheba Fayran, First General of the Kingdom of Ashrandia, charged forward to meet his fate, daring to challenge it until the very end.
Rain continued to pour down the hole in the ceiling. A gust of wind blew out the last candlelight. The sound of battle had left the chamber in an eerie silence. A lone figure stared into the black, gray sky. He was on his knees, the only things supporting him were the dozen spears and swords that impaled and punctured through his destroyed armor and body. His gleaming weapon, once shone victory on the battlefield, laid barren, master-less, its edge dented in too many places to count.
The dying warrior did not care if his life was forfeit. It was a fate he couldn't escape from, but at the very least, as he stared into the sky where the beams of white light had disappeared into the rain clouds, Sheba was glad. He had fulfilled his duty as a protective father, and he had fulfilled his promise with his wife. Surely, they were destined for much greater things; destined to overturn the wheels of fate, for they were a pair – their destinies shall intertwine when the time came. Satisfied, the man's limbs no longer moved. His opened eyes became sheets of glass. The rest was up to them.
Author's Comments: If you've made it this far to the bottom of the page, I congratulate you. This is my first attempt at writing a fantasy tale. Sure, this might just be a prologue, but I might as well call it chapter 1 since that'd work too. In case the summary doesn't do this tale justice, the story will be divided into chapters containing different views, since we have two protagonists. (i.e. one chapter is one char's view, next chapter is the other char's view, or both views are included in same chapter except there's a clear divisible line when the transition occurs, don't know yet lol) I'll be writing the first chapter as soon as I post this. I have a habit of producing ideas like the primer strand in PCR. The more I write the better the form develops and whatnot. Fairly new at this, so if by chance you'd like to offer some pointers, I'll gladly take them with head bowed. Lastly, my sincerest thanks for taking interest to read this story; don't mind the title too much if it sounds too weird to you (laugh) It's suppose to be related to the story XP