prequel for hearton fire
Fantasy and Romance
It was sunny out side that day,the loyal sun had a soft glow dancing from its rays,
the sky resembled a bottomless ocean , he'd never seen it so bright and vivid in his eighteen years of existence.
The balanced weight he felt on his head continued to remind him of his indespenable quality
of reliability. It took strength to withstand the painstaking and notable achievement of owning and keeping the title of Zeagan Kutner ,Prince of Reina, and what was even more blood demanding than being a subordinate ruler of a kingdom built on carnage and warcraft , was being the son of King Zelron, Known better as Slayer of the Deathless. When people thought of the youth of the Prince and the opacity of his strength ,wisdom and stateliness,They felt reasonably protective of their prospective of his future rule as king, expecting the same thriving prosperity of Zelron.
Standing at his perfect height, Zeagan's marvoled over the evergreen trees and the river banks that layered evenly over the grass plains of the southern side of the kingdom.The wind fanned his long black hair from his shoulders, blowing it back to hoover above his ears. The rough air current pushed his his feather-light shirt against his body. He could smell, even taste the stifling and sweet aura of the atmosphrer.
It was an unparamored feeling to be almost weightless against the wind, to feel so much important aspects deteriorate.He wanted to melt everything he had learned away, swordmanshipand horsemanship erased,archery and the art of being a gentleman vaporized. There was never any relevant reason to have them fogging his mind at once.The was almost no room for his own thoghts, niether was there time. The prime devastator of it all was his exceptance in surrendering his right to choose between any sort of option.
His life was stabbed relentlessly with the noble requirements of a young man of his stature before he was born. As ifwritten chronologically on paper every decimeter he moved was part of an exceptable life plan. H is bright mother Queen Sireia once told him that man was created in the image of god,so every part of man's body is important in some significant way and has nessecary use. In other words a nose isnt a part of a person because of a need to fill the spot in he middle of the face. So,why did he have to be told what he smelled or saw or thought? Why was he obligated to accept anyone telling hi m what his next move was going to be?
Those were the mind consuming questions he asked himself every night but dare ask any one who knew the answer as well as he himself knew it. All the people he kenw that lived and laughed aroung him had been instructed to do so, even trained their whole lives to perfect the illusion of true happiness.The same personnel that smiled at him as he entered a room , cried themselves to sleep at night . Nothing seemed to be real, except for death love and fire.
" Young master!" a voice howled from behind him shocking him completely out of his revelry.
It was a woman's voice, she hollered for him a second time from a distance. He could tell she was shaken though there were only two words she had spoken.
The prince whipped around,and his questioning green eyes poured over the young woman's stunned and abashed face. She was one of the younger maids of the castle.The prince recognized her as one of the Queen's maids, one that Sireia grew in and out of fondness with, Sarana.The woman was panting , almost weasing,as sweat drop from her forehead and she continued to gasp she cried "My Prince, you have to come quicklysomething horrible has happened." her voice and tone almost sound sarcastic.He became convinced that she was being theatrical about what ever it is that she was so worried for.
" Are you alright?" He stepped a half foot towards her hutched over body. She wiped her mouth still panting from the run. "The King! the King! Cant you hear the screaming?" She lowered her head and began to whimper.
The words struck him cold.What screams? He thought. They were too far away to hear any person. Zeagan could sense the taste of panic in his throat, he grabbed woman's lean elbow and lifted her head up,"What are you saying ?" His voice dominated the atmosphere." Be clear, what screams are you talking about?"
"The screams of the kingdom" she clarified pointing in direction of the castle above the rock mountains." The King has perished."
That moment changed the rest of his life forever, completely erasing the guidlines that struggled their way into his world. His face turned into stone , his stomach digested itself, the air stopped blowing and suddenly, ever so faintly, he could hear the screams.
Fourty thousand ghastly statements caroused the air. It was as if Reina herself was crying.
Without a second thought the Prince lifted the woman from the grass and dirt of the ground and into his careful arms, and began to run with her at a remarkable speed. Her long dark tresses kissed the skin on his face and neck as he ran. His precised steps were pounding rhythms that slithered through the tall grass blades like garden snakes as he ran. The lady buried her face into the expertly stitched chest of his crisp white shirt as he ran ... and ran ... and ran.
the sky resembled a bottomless ocean , he'd never seen it so bright and vivid in his eighteen years of existence.
The balanced weight he felt on his head continued to remind him of his indespenable quality
of reliability. It took strength to withstand the painstaking and notable achievement of owning and keeping the title of Zeagan Kutner ,Prince of Reina, and what was even more blood demanding than being a subordinate ruler of a kingdom built on carnage and warcraft , was being the son of King Zelron, Known better as Slayer of the Deathless. When people thought of the youth of the Prince and the opacity of his strength ,wisdom and stateliness,They felt reasonably protective of their prospective of his future rule as king, expecting the same thriving prosperity of Zelron.
Standing at his perfect height, Zeagan's marvoled over the evergreen trees and the river banks that layered evenly over the grass plains of the southern side of the kingdom.The wind fanned his long black hair from his shoulders, blowing it back to hoover above his ears. The rough air current pushed his his feather-light shirt against his body. He could smell, even taste the stifling and sweet aura of the atmosphrer.
It was an unparamored feeling to be almost weightless against the wind, to feel so much important aspects deteriorate.He wanted to melt everything he had learned away, swordmanshipand horsemanship erased,archery and the art of being a gentleman vaporized. There was never any relevant reason to have them fogging his mind at once.The was almost no room for his own thoghts, niether was there time. The prime devastator of it all was his exceptance in surrendering his right to choose between any sort of option.
His life was stabbed relentlessly with the noble requirements of a young man of his stature before he was born. As ifwritten chronologically on paper every decimeter he moved was part of an exceptable life plan. H is bright mother Queen Sireia once told him that man was created in the image of god,so every part of man's body is important in some significant way and has nessecary use. In other words a nose isnt a part of a person because of a need to fill the spot in he middle of the face. So,why did he have to be told what he smelled or saw or thought? Why was he obligated to accept anyone telling hi m what his next move was going to be?
Those were the mind consuming questions he asked himself every night but dare ask any one who knew the answer as well as he himself knew it. All the people he kenw that lived and laughed aroung him had been instructed to do so, even trained their whole lives to perfect the illusion of true happiness.The same personnel that smiled at him as he entered a room , cried themselves to sleep at night . Nothing seemed to be real, except for death love and fire.
" Young master!" a voice howled from behind him shocking him completely out of his revelry.
It was a woman's voice, she hollered for him a second time from a distance. He could tell she was shaken though there were only two words she had spoken.
The prince whipped around,and his questioning green eyes poured over the young woman's stunned and abashed face. She was one of the younger maids of the castle.The prince recognized her as one of the Queen's maids, one that Sireia grew in and out of fondness with, Sarana.The woman was panting , almost weasing,as sweat drop from her forehead and she continued to gasp she cried "My Prince, you have to come quicklysomething horrible has happened." her voice and tone almost sound sarcastic.He became convinced that she was being theatrical about what ever it is that she was so worried for.
" Are you alright?" He stepped a half foot towards her hutched over body. She wiped her mouth still panting from the run. "The King! the King! Cant you hear the screaming?" She lowered her head and began to whimper.
The words struck him cold.What screams? He thought. They were too far away to hear any person. Zeagan could sense the taste of panic in his throat, he grabbed woman's lean elbow and lifted her head up,"What are you saying ?" His voice dominated the atmosphere." Be clear, what screams are you talking about?"
"The screams of the kingdom" she clarified pointing in direction of the castle above the rock mountains." The King has perished."
That moment changed the rest of his life forever, completely erasing the guidlines that struggled their way into his world. His face turned into stone , his stomach digested itself, the air stopped blowing and suddenly, ever so faintly, he could hear the screams.
Fourty thousand ghastly statements caroused the air. It was as if Reina herself was crying.
Without a second thought the Prince lifted the woman from the grass and dirt of the ground and into his careful arms, and began to run with her at a remarkable speed. Her long dark tresses kissed the skin on his face and neck as he ran. His precised steps were pounding rhythms that slithered through the tall grass blades like garden snakes as he ran. The lady buried her face into the expertly stitched chest of his crisp white shirt as he ran ... and ran ... and ran.
