The kingdom of Lacrome was burning. Flame rose from the broken towers, castles and buildings. Black clouds rolled across the sky, hiding the sun, and blocking the light. The citizens ran around screaming in panic, as beasts clawed and ate away at them. In the centre of the ruined capital, two figures stood face to face. Their eyes narrowed at each other, their weapons readied.

  King Rivian Lionheart held the hilt of his sword, Valebringer, tightly in both hands. The blade glowed gold, ready to strike at any moment. His armour was dented, his face bruised, but his gold eyes burned with justice and vengeance.

  Across him stood the Dark Lord Aerion. The personification of evil. His black armor looked like it had been forged by the underworld. His sword, long and twisted, pulsed with black flames. Smoke and dark magic swirled around his feet.

  They continued to stare each other down. Studying every tick their bodies made. Every breath they took.

  “You will not take Sylon.” Rivian spat through gritted teeth, his eyebrows furrowing further. Aerion let out a deep chuckle, pointing his dark blade at the battered king.

  “I already have, and Lacrome is the last thing standing. With your death, I would have this continent bow at my feet.” He replied, his grin turning wicked as it widened. Without wasting a second, Aerion raised his free hand and shot a black ball of fire towards Rivian. The king dodge, his messy blonde hair flailing around in the wind. He rolled to the side then sprinted forward. Their swords clashed, sending shockwaves of light and dark.

  They moved around the air like thunder and lightning, fast yet extremely deadly. Rivian’s blade cut through the dark shadows surrounding Aerion’s armour and struck the metallic object, burning it. The Dark Lord was quick to strike back, his sword swinging across and breaking the king’s armour, slicing at his midsection and drawing blood.

  Rivian coughed up blood, his chest burning. Aerion then grabbed a fistful of the king’s hair and threw him from the sky towards the ground. Rivian landed on the ground with a large thud, his body arch upwards, coughing up even more blood. The dark lord made his way down, his red eyes looking down at the king with disdain. His sharp black teeth were curled up in a snarl. He continued watch in disgust as Rivian slowly got up, using his sword as leverage.

  “You can’t win.” Aerion hissed. The young man stood within the crater, slowly lifting his sword up.

  “I don’t need to,” Rivian said, “I just need to stop you, and if I die doing so, then I have kept my oath as the king of this land.” He added. “The other warriors and royals failed against you, but I won’t.”

  Aerion laughed mockingly, but it was cut short when Rivian lunged forward with the last of strength and his sword pointed. It was swift, quick, and it was effective. Valebringer pierced through the dark chest plate and through Aerion’s chest. A bright light emitted through the air, created another shockwave that blew buildings away.

  “You fought well, King Rivian Lioheard, but as I said, Sylon is mine. And the last kingdom, your kingdom, will die along with you.”

  Rivian had no strength to block the attack. Aerion had pierced his heart with his black sword, and filled his body with venous black flames.

  His gold eyes glanced at the dark skies, droplets of rain falling over him as he dropped to his knees.

  “Forgive me…..Lacrome. Forgive me….Sylon.”

  The great king had fallen.

  His sword had clattered to the ground.

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  The only light left had vanished.

  Aerion stood over Rivian’s body, shadows swirling around him like a storm.

  “The age of darkness has begun.” He said. From the hills, the last of Lacrome’s people watched in horror and silence. Their king, the hope had been defeated. The world belonged to Aerion now, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

  #####

  A shallow gasp for air ripped through Rivian’s throat as he opened his eyes. He then groaned from the blinding light. His back was hot, and his body ached with every slight movement he made. The young man blinked, slowly sitting up. The air around him was dry, the wind still.

  His gold armour was gone, leaving him a beige tunic and brown trousers. His sword, Valebring, was gone. However, he was alive. Somehow.

  All around him, there was nothing but dunes. Endless hills of red and yellow sand. In the distance, strange clay brick houses and towers that rose from the earth—twisting like roots, could be seen. He had never been to a place like this. He had travelled the continent of Sylon over and over, both for diplomatic reasons and out of joy. Yet, he had never seen something like this. His eyes moved upwards, and it widened. This was further proof that this was not Sylon.

  The sky was gold with an amber/yellowish sun beating down on him. It was far different than the lilac sun he had lived with in his world.

  The young man took a deep breath, and spoke out aloud.

  “Where am I?”

  There was no answer.

  He stood, though his body ached. His hands were empty. His heart was empty. He had failed. He hadn’t been able to keep his oath as a king to Lacrome, let alone one of the sworn protectors of Sylon. Aerion had won.

  But….he was not dead.

  The divine had allowed him to live another life……if this was what it was. This place was neither Sylon nor Lacrome. This was a place where no one knew of him. Knew his history. He could carve his own path. Maybe this world needed something he could help with. Maybe he could get his second chance of protecting something.

  His gold eyes continued to look at the sky as a strange bird flew overhead, its wings made of crystals.

  RIvian began to feel his body become sluggish and weak, sweat forming on his forehead. He continued to grow woozy, his eyes dropping before he finally dropped face first into the sand.

  In the distance, a cloaked figure trudged through the sand, their tanned hand grasping the large stick tightly. Their two thick strands of orange hair that peaked through the cloak blew around, indicating a sand storm was afoot.

  Their azure eyes landed on Rivian’s unconscious body.

  “Oh my.”

  #####

  Rivian’s eyes slowly opened, looking at the brown ceiling above him. He let out what felt like the nth groan as he sat up, letting the thin blanket over him to pool at his waist. He brought up his pale hand to rub his eyes, in hopes to fix his vision a little.

  “Yay! You’re awake!” A child’s voice rang in his ear. He moved his gaze towards the voice and there stood a young girl in a long beige tunic, her short hair bounced around as she jumped up and down, her large azure eyes brimming with excitement. Rivian chuckled at the sight, but his attention turned towards the taller, tanned woman who walked into the room. She was in a tightly fitted tank top that showed her toned arms. Her legs were covered by dark brown cargo pants. Her boots rang heavy with each step she took. Her long orange hair rested down her back, two thick strands of hair framing her face.

  “Calm down, Lavinia. You’ll hurt yourself,” she stated, “and you need to head to old man Gaija to collect your magic books.” She concluded.

  Although dejected at first, Lavinia lit up as she heard that her books were ready. Without needing much convincing, Lavinia grabbed her cloak and boots, before rushing out the room. The tanned woman pushed her bangs out of her face, and let out a heavy sigh. Her azure eyes then moved to Rivian as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Sorry about that. My sister can be a bit much, especially when her healing magic works.” A sheepish chuckle escaped her lips. The gold eyed man shook his head vehemently.

  “I’m not bothered by it. You and your sister saved me,” he whispered. “If anything, I am indebted to you.” Rivian bowed in his seated position, which the young woman stopped by grabbing his shoulders and stopping him.

  “No need. There’s no way I could have left you there with a sandstorm afoot.” She explained. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep or have a good conscience if I did.”

  An awkward silence ensued as the two sat there, not knowing what to say.

  “I’m Leonora Baccanzo.” She introduced, unable to take the silence any longer. She offered him a gloved hand to shake.

  “Ki— Rivian Lionheart.” He replied. He wasn’t a king anymore. He was no longer worthy of such a title.

  “Okay, Rivian. Where are you from?” Leonora then asked.

  The young man froze, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his head, letting out a sheepish and nervous chuckle.

  “Uh…..it’s kind of a long story.”