“While I have you safe, my sweet boy, I must impart words ofwisdom.” Her voice shakes with tiny sobs. “I know you desire a struggle. The need remains starved in your body like a land without rain, thirsting for the one thing you crave most yet deny yourself.”
“And what is that?”
“Power, Calder, you need power. It is an undeniable part of the man you were born to become. Fighting against yourself creates an imbalance that will lead you on the path to ruin.”
She breathes heavily, turning her head over his shoulder as a sadness brushes over her face. “She has my family,” She whispers. “After I aided Avard in your escape back to his home in Treland, she has held their lives over me.”
Calder reaches through the bars to hold the woman he now remembers as his Governess. There is a pang in his chest at the pain he has caused one of the few people in his life who genuinely cared for him.
“What does she ask of you?”
“I must support her twisted interpretation of a prophecy before the Jarls of Skalor. But with you here, I can speak the truth. Please heed my words, my sweet boy, my Calder. Do not allow her to dismiss reality for her whims. You may have been born to dismantle the continent, but it is up to you to free our kingdom.”
Her body seizes, and her eyes fade to black as the prophecy forms in her mind.
“Skalor’s salvation requires two.
Liberation bleeds at the hands of the god-born child.
To make equal upon a field of sunless roses, a willing sacrifice must be taken.
Only when Salt melts Ice will peace descend upon the realm.”
2
CALDER
February 4th, Year 21, 10th Era
Nightwall Keep, Skalor
Calder awakens in the early morning to find himself alone in his darkened chamber.
No Lavinia.
No trained temptresses.
He follows his unchanging morning routine, which today includes cutting his hair close to the scalp—a process that has frustratingly grown more difficult with age.
At first, the actions were a means of clearing his head. As the winters passed, each as dark and unforgiving as the last, he realized his routines were more about quieting the voices haunting his steps than about any real productivity. The atrocities of his past continue to sink into him like bitter tendrils, soaking up the faint residue left of whatever soul he possesses.
Skalor’s salvation requires two.
Liberation bleeds at the hands of the god-born child.
To make equal upon a field of sunless roses, a willing sacrifice must be taken.
Only when Salt melts Ice will peace descend upon the realm.
He is unable to shake the Seer’s prophecy.
The more it replays in his mind, the more he is forced to tighten his control, lest he crack and expose his weakness.
I should storm the dungeon and save the Seer. Then take the fight to the damn Queen and demand she release her family!
By afternoon, he checks the windowsill and freezes it shut before falling to the floor. Repeatedly, he pushes himself upward, strengthening his arms, the last remnants of his once-toned form.
If I had known that bitch threatened her family, I would have stopped it long ago!
