Age of Heroes

'Brutus, sworn brother of Nasrana was not pleased in the fact that as times goes by Gwenevere influence on Nasrana seems to become larger and was convinced that Gwenevere is the incarnation of the Darkness meant to lead the Prophet astray. He then plotted with the chief of the great Tribes, persuading them to poison Gwenevere. In that meeting, the Demon Astiel disguises himself as one of the Priest of the Tribes and seconded Brutus plans. And so a dark conspiracy is borne out of jealousy and envy. One night when Nasrana went to one of the Tribes to answer questions about the path of Truth, three men from three great tribes sneak inside the house of Nasrana and pour the poisons into the drinking jug of Gwenevere.'

Arial could imagine the scene in his mind.

'The poison was made from thirteen roots of poison from each one of the thirteen tribes. Brutus come to her house and as etiquette of that time, Gwenevere offer him a drink with her also have to drink. Brutus did not drink but Gwenevere did and the moment she did she coughed black blood and in second dies. Creator In Heaven, Light Above was angered and curse the Thirteen Tribes.'

Ragar voice seems to be rising as he narrates the story. 

'The Angels informed the Prophet and Nasrana blames Brutus and for years Nasrana did not spread the message of peace and truth. The Thirteen Tribes were cursed to answer the call when the Horn is sounded. Those who did not answer the call, who did not return when the Horn is sounded, will be met with punishment in this world and the next. The Creator of All, or as you Outsiders called him the Light Above. In our belief, he is the Chief God that transcends the Gods we worship, the source of everything. While the belief of the human Continent is in one god we believe many but we put the Creator on top of all the Gods. This story is told to us since we were a child. In my childhood, it was my mother who told me this story. I always thought the stories were very fascinating.' 

'So that is the sin? The Thirteen Tribes murdered the Prophet beloved?' 

'No, the reason why the Thirteen Tribes were punished is because the thirteen tribes murdered Holy Blood. 

'What do you mean?' 

Sighing Ragar answer 

'Many priests that study the Old Scriptures believed at the time of her poisoning, she was pregnant with child, with the child of the Prophet.

Arial nodded

'But in the end, my lord this is just stories. Who knows whether this is the truth?' 

Arial smirked. It's too late for him not to believe in Gods and myth considering he is in one now.

Lady of the Lake, Amara, a Goddess sending dreams and messages, sword in a stone, an ancient gate that opens only by an act of war, it has all the makings of a great myth to be told in later generations.

'Then why run to the Shadowlands?' Arial asked smiling at Ragar and Ragar was flustered. Then he answers 

'Because the darkness is real. Because the evil is real. And if that is real then maybe the stories are real too.'

'Huh' Arial looked at Ragar with amusement.

'Anyway, my lord, you should persuade the men to stay.' Arial looked at the entrance of his tent and shake his head.

'No, if they want to stay they will stay.'

'My lord, if I could-'

'Enough. I will not be moved.' Ragar still look at Arial with a pleading expression and Arial sighed and he began to speak his thoughts

'War...is terrifying. And only brave men could fight in a place where death is common, where all manners of horrors could be seen. If they are willing, I could transform them into a soldier. If they are unwilling, what is the point? A few brave men are better than numbers, Ragar. Numbers do not win wars. Men win wars. There are battles I fought where the odds are stacked against me, and yet I persevere each time. Why did I win? Because I was accompanied by brave men that would ride with me into battle, willingly and because they are willing, they are valiant. This war that I will be waging...is not of my own will. This war is a.... cruel necessity.'

Ragar nodded.

'It is.' He answer

Arial just smiles bitterly. In this land, logic seems to not play any part. Myths, lore, old stories forgotten by time, all of it seem to take their shelters here.

Old Gods and Old Stories relived back. Tales here is as irrefutable as logic is in the other Continents. 

Arial might even describe this continent, Novus Gaia, as the last bastion of the Age of Gods, where the Old Stories is still being told and believed.

'But my lord, the words you said to me can I relay it to the people following us?'

'Which words?' Arial asked

Ragar smiles and he said

'That you only need brave men following you.' Arial looked at Ragar and laughed.

'Fine! Tell them that! HAHAHA!' Arial does not know much about the Thirteen tribes but Arial knows that nobody likes to be called a coward. 

If Ragar spread his word, that he only needs brave men in his troops, then those who is not in his troop would be labeled cowards.

And that kind of label sticks here.

Ragar smiles and exited himself out of the tent and Arial could rest himself. Drinking a full pouch of water until its empty, Arial then went outside his tent.

His tent is separated from the soldiers tent and is grander with servant tent near him if he ever needs them.

Tonight is warm. Or is it cold. 

'I don't really know. I miss…. the old days. Heh. I'm being sentimental' he said to the wind. He realizes that he is dirty and has a trace of battle and smell of blood on his body.

Smiling he went to a nearby stream. He was alone. The sound of the flowing water seems to evoke a feeling of serenity.

He looks at the stream of water and he saw himself. The moon shines bright tonight, lighting the forest like it was evening.

What he sees of his reflection is him, dazzling and powerful, young and full of youth. Yet, his eyes were cold, devoid of joy and full of pain and anger.

Mostly anger. The reason why he agreed on doing this was purely selfish reason. To avenge his wife…. no. 

Not because he loves her anymore. Kyle was wrong. Lisa was wrong. They both still thought he loves her. He…loved her. 

That is true. But that's not the reason why he is so angry. He's angry because he couldn't really win against the dead could he? 

He doesn't even have the time to be angry before she was taken from him and for that Arial was denied of his deserved closure.

He deserved it. Deserved a closure, whatever that might be. Helia was lucky in a way. Arial wasn't even allowed to feel anger at her until he realizes it after the funeral.

By that time, it all seems pointless. All he had was his rage. All he had was that burning fire that refuse to die out. Frustration bubbling out.

He did not become the man he wanted to be. Not the husband he wanted to be. Not the father he could be.

All that is left is a husk.

And now, a world away from his empire, he believes that by avenging her, for some reason Arial believes that it will give him closure on that part of his life.

Because until he got closure, he could not move. Stuck on that deathbed. Stuck on that last word.

He splashes the water to his face and then his face distorted as he looks at the moon hatefully before asking

'Amara, you promise me that I'll get my revenge! I did what you ask! I'm waging a war for you, for her. At least, by Light, give me a sign. Anything!' He almost shouted and then as he finished his word a gust of wind washes over Arial and Arial almost buckle under the pressure.

He looks down because of the pressure and then he looks back in front of him and he gasped. 

Chained on the Godstree, the most beautiful representation of woman in all of creation smiles.

Arial was looking at a translucent image of Amara. Hair white as light shining in the dark night, like a Sun that break all the Darkness in the world.

Her hair is long that it reached her hips, with each strands seems to embody some sort of divine energy.

Her arm is clad in the shimmering samite. Her eyes are blue like the sky and pierces anyone soul, her skin smooth as silk.

Like an Empress of immense power and authority, she stands there, looking at him, smiling proudly like she was looking at her son.

Then a word comes out of her mouth

'Follow'

She then pointed to her right and Arial could see it. A white hart. Arial heart could not help but beats furiously.

In legends and myths, the white hart is sacred. The Demon Lords saw it as a harbinger of doom. This is mostly because the White Hart is one of the Divine Animals that helped Levitia in his many quest, providing guidance.

Caelum believed that to harm a white hart is to be eternally cursed with the pain of love. Considering the owner of the white hart which is Amara, it is fairly reasonable reasoning.

Others saw the creature as a symbol of purity and redemption.

Then the image of Amara disappears and Arial returns back to the stream as he suddenly buckled down and kneels on the stream, the water splashed on his face and his body, water around his knees, like a scene of absolution in the rituals of the old.

A great hero kneeling on the watery streams of purification. 

The scenery of the forest is the same and the surrounding is the same, like Arial had imagine the whole thing.

The only difference is that now, in front of Arial, there is a white hart.

It is majestic and it antlers glowed with a silvery hue around it, making it looks holy and sacred.

Arial was about to approach the white hart when it began to gallop away with its long powerful legs. Its hooves leave not a trace on the smooth ground. 

'Wait!' Arial shouted but the White Hart keep galloping. 

Arial eyes narrowed as he takes a deep breath. 

Then he stomps his feet and the water beneath his feet exploded with the soil beneath him sunken as Arial launches himself to the air chasing the white hart.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

UNDER THE GODSTREE

'Like the story of Levitia, Arial follows the White Hart. The stories repeated itself again…. or is it?' Amara chuckles alone under the Godstree, smiling mysteriously.

'Love… when will they understand it is the most powerful force in the universe?' She asked as she smiles looking at the sky.

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