The Great War Third of Myris

“I smell smoke," Crown Prince Vehome Aen muttered in Vianian, he wrapped up the pain he was allowing himself and reached for the spyglass, praying it to be nothing more than a natural fire.

He knew it was not, though his heart kept hope alive until his eyes denied it. Too many villages burned at once for any natural fire to spread so far, and too much of the western sky had turned the color of fresh embers for it to be the work of dry forests or careless hands.

He turned the twin-lensed spyglass, four and a half kos, towards the Great Keep of Miranda, holding onto the last foolish hope that distance had deceived him and that the glow belonged to something smaller, something the night had made greater than it truly was. The lenses sharpened the world instead of softening it, and the truth came nearer with every breath he drew.

The news of his father and mother's death had reached him only seconds ago, not enough time even to mourn them before another calamity demanded his eyes. Around the Great Keep, beneath the burning sky, men were assembling in ordered ranks. Even in the deepening dusk he could see steel catching the dying light in numbers far beyond a border watch, and there remained no room for hope to mistake it for anything other than an army gathering upon the Miranda border, taking advantage of an empire that had lost both its rulers in same breathe.

He was twenty at seven, not a child to weep as he had. He cursed himself for every heartbeat he had wasted staring at the black-threaded message instead of the western horizon, for letting sorrow bend his knees when Viana had needed an heir who knew better. His father had not raised him to drown in mourning while the border burned, and his mother had not taught him to mistake tears for duty.

“Fool,” he spat beneath his breath, tore the spyglass from his eyes and moved before another moment could be stolen from him, for mourning could wait until the Empire had survived the night, but the border would not.

He seized the Sword of Ashke from where it rested beside the war table and turned, only then finding his younger brother seated over the maps spread across the table, Vehome's heartbeat faltered, unable to decide which truth ought to reach Vyere first, that their father and mother were dead, or that an army now stood upon their doorstep.

The Crown Prince overcame the brother. “Vyere,” he called before the younger prince had so much as lifted his head from the map, “ride to the Great Chowk and ring the rescue bell.”

With that, Vehome hastened back towards the spyglass once more, but the younger prince had already reached him, catching hold of his arm before he could take another step. “Jye,” Vyere shook his head, “Papa swore they could never cross the bridge.”

“Papa is not here,” Vehome's voice cracked as he pulled his arm free and marched still towards the spyglass.

“Send Vynarra then,” Vyere followed after him, refusing to yield.

“First you ride,” Vehome did not once turn to face him, “we cannot take that risk.”

“Jye...”

“Vyere,” Vehome met his gaze at last, “go, and take Dahvine with you.”

Vyere's heart had already foretold every dreadful possibility that command carried, yet he ran all the same and Vehome raised the spyglass to his eyes once more, only for his footing to falter beneath him.

Aengh Oneme Aen stood at the foot of the bridge with Salvo. Vehome lurched away from the battlements and ran towards the corridor, reaching the railing that overlooked the descending stairway. He leaned so far over the stone that one hand caught the cold edge to steady himself.

“Vyere!” His voice broke across the Keep, and before Vyere, who had stopped nearly ten steps below, could so much as look up, he added. “Take Dahvine with you and see Ryska safely away.”

“Jye...” Vyere climbed a step back towards him.

“No,” Vehome pleaded, his fingers tightened upon the railing. “I will awaken the Gate, then I will come back to you, but if...” His breath trembled. “Fahn forbid, but...” The sentence died upon his tongue before it could be spoken. “She is to live, even if we do not, even if every soul here leaves the world this night, she is to live.”

“No," Vyere took two desperate steps back up the staircase, shaking his head before the tears had even reached his eyes. “No, Jye.”

Vehome's face hardened. “It is the order of your King!” he thundered, the command struck the Keep harder than any war bell, and Vyere froze where he stood, he understood the meaning of his brother's words at once.

“Papa...” His voice broke apart. “Mamma... You did not tell me they are gone..."

“Vyere, if they reach Ryska before you do...” Vehome's voice rose with every word until it became a cry that echoed through the stone halls. “Go, save her.”

Vyere's fingers curled helplessly at his sides, tears spilled freely down his face, and still he kept shaking his head as though refusing the command might yet undo the truth that had fallen upon them. His eyes never left Vehome. He drank in every line of his brother's face with desperate hunger, the scar along his neck, the golden strands fallen across his cheeks, looking as though he meant to carve Vehome into memory before war stole that chance from him forever.

“You were the finest brother a man could ever hope for,” Vehome stepped back once, turned without allowing himself another glance, and ran towards the gate of the bridge. “Fall back!” his voice ripped across the fortress, carrying over stone, steel, and flame alike.

Every soldier stationed along the western gate turned instantly. "Your Highness?"

“Leave these walls,” Vehome's eyes blazed. “Evacuate the citizens.”

The soldier's broke formation and ran. Armor clashed as they scattered into the city below, abandoning the battlements for the streets where screams had already begun to rise above the bells, but his Prinike Ravale, the Crown Prince's chief protecter, stirred not... whether bound by his oath as The Crown Prince's chief protector or simply because he could not abandon the child he had shielded with his own life since the cradle.

Vehome's expression hardened so completely that grief vanished beneath command. He held the man's gaze, saw nothing there but devotion, and knew that argument would only squander the seconds Solari no longer possessed and so he turned away. His stride grew swift as he descended the stairs towards the ancient rune carved into the heart of the Gate, a seal that had not been awakened for centuries. Every step echoed through the fortress like the tolling of a clock counting down a kingdom's remaining moments, and then he stopped at the sight of her.

She was running towards him, ignoring every order that had been given to her.

“I won't go without you,” Dahvine Rhan threw her arms around him with such force that it stole a heartbeat from his lungs.

“Dahvine...” Vehome's hand rose to her head, his fingers passed through her hair with unbearable tenderness before he gently loosened her embrace and resumed his stride. “I'll seal the Gate... and then I'll come back to you.”

“Promise me,” she said. “Promise me, and I will turn back now.”

He answered by running towards the rune instead, even as she followed after him with Prinike close behind. He stopped only before the ancient stone that bore the sigil of House Aen, the Great Dragon of Amara. The wind howled around them, fire stained the horizon beyond the sea, and for the first time that day his throat tightened, yet no promise came, for promises were made by men who believed tomorrow belonged to them, and Vehome knew tomorrow had already begun asking for his life.

He thrust both palms against the dragon's heart, calling upon his magic, and golden light should have answered, yet his palms remained empty and the rune lay cold beneath them. His fingers dug harder into the ancient carving until the stone bit into his skin. Dahvine, seeing it, thrust her hands over his, and yellow light bloomed to life from her palm and curled around Vehome's hands like living flame.

“Dahvine, you cannot awaken this,” he cried. “You are not an Aen.”

“But I can stand beside you," Dahvine said. "You will protect my dignity, and I will protect your honor. We will stand against everything, beside one another, in this life and in every life yet to come. We are soulmates from this day until the day your soul no longer remains. We took our vows before the Fire, husband.”

“We did,” his voice cracked as the memory returned, their hands clasped within one another's above the Fire.

He could feel its warmth again, could feel her fingers wrapped around his own as though the years between had never been lived. He remembered every vow he had given her, remembered every vow she had returned, and the Sage had placed both his hands upon their heads and said, “Before the Eternal Fire, you are now husband and wife.”

It had been the second happiest day of his life, for the first belonged to Ryska. He heard her heralding her arrival once more, impossibly small and impossibly loud, her tiny fingers curling around one of his with a grip far too fierce for so fragile a soul.

He had taken the silent vow that he would always protect her, he remembered it now and the panic released its grip on him for he had people to protect, he had sister to protect, and magic bloomed from his palms, a deep gold glow flowed into the rune, the ancient stone answered him until the entire dais ignited and a roar rose from the ocean.

Chains of molten gold burst forth from the dragon's heart, racing across the Karasova Bridge until they reached its very middle, where they plunged into the waters of the Solari Ocean. A handful of heartbeats passed before the chains began to withdraw into the rune once more, and from the depths beneath the bridge, great golden gates rose from either side of the sea, their ancient weight grinding against stone and water alike as they slowly sealed the passage.

Dahvine and Vehome looked at one another as the Gate began its slow, thunderous closing, and in the last quiet breath before the world returned to its clamor, they rested their foreheads together and smiled, the kind of smile only two souls ever shared after surviving the fiercest of storms, unaware that theirs had not yet ended.

“For whatever it is you have just done, Commander,” Dahvine murmured, “you shall have a child from me.”

“That sounds a great deal more terrifying, my girl,” Vehome laughed. “Coming from you, more so than it ought to.” He leaned in to steal her mouth, but before his lips could find hers, Prinike Ravale seized her with his left hand and pulled her aside, while his right hand swept the Sword of Sylvaria through the air, severing the golden ropes reaching for her.

The three of them turned at once towards the source of the attack and found Oneme standing with his hand outstretched precisely where the two halves of the Gate were closing. Ropes of molten gold streamed from him, coiled around one another and grew thicker with every passing moment.

“I will see to it, my prince," Prinike Ravale moved at once, his blade kept cutting the ropes.

Vehome's gaze darted from the sword at his hip to the rune, then to the gates, which seemed to him the slowest things in all the world.

“Dahvine, go and inform Father Vorath about Father Oneme," he tried his best to sound steady. "Go before he sounds the Salvo, will you?”

Dahvine, who had been working her magic blades, suddenly remembered that none of them present could face Father Oneme. None but Father Vorath stood a chance against him. She nodded and ran back towards the city.

“Tell him, and him alone, that Father Oneme has sided with our enemy," Vehome called after her. "Ryska is not to hear of this.”

“I shall,” Dahvine assured him, still running. She understood why Vehome had insisted upon keeping it from Ryska. Ryska could not yet control her fire, and so nothing must be allowed to provoke her.

She reached the gates of Great Viana Keep, mounted, and had barely ridden twenty paces when the sound of the Salvo rang out behind her. She reined, the horse reared at the sudden thunder, then halted so sharply that Dahvine was thrown forward in the saddle, she looked back at once.

A burning orb streaked across the night sky, racing from Miranda towards Viana. Dahvine shook her head as she watched it tear through the darkness, its fiery glow kept growing brighter with every passing moment, until it struck the Great Keep of Miranda. The explosion tore through the night, bathing the borders of Viana in a daylight-white brilliance.

“VEHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME!”

A cry tore from her throat, shaking heaven and myris alike. She kicked her horse, urging it to turn back towards her husband, her precious man, but the animal had already seen the circle of fire spreading outwards from the Salvo, racing in every direction. It shied away from the approaching blaze and turned towards the city, carrying her with it.

Dahvine looked back and saw the circle of destruction racing towards her and in every direction. She stared at it, her eyes, which had once held the whole of Solari, now utterly lifeless. The horse, Badale, beneath her felt the heat drawing closer and his instincts urged him to run faster. He knew this land, had grown up upon its soil, had carried Dahvine countless times across the very roads now threatened by the advancing fire.

Badale, ran with all the strength in his body, yet even as his hooves thundered against the myris, fear gripped him. He could feel the heat of the Salvo closing in, its reach threatened to swallow him and his princess before he could carry her beyond its radius. Every instinct urged him to flee, yet he could not flee alone. He had to save her, even if his homeland, which was still intact and his to see, was lost to him forever.

He knew Solari was no longer safe, for the Salvo had already torn open the gates for the Vialthor army to pour into Solari and burn everything... the records, the names, the clans, and an empire into the past tense.