The young man perched upon the wall, apple in hand. He tossed it up and down with the ease of someone who was well practiced. His ruby eyes focused far away, on the horizon, as if he were looking for someone.
The rolling hills of the plain were serene, the type in the story books where cattle chewed their cud and let out the occasional languid ‘moo.’ It was a clear day, the sky stretching from horizon to horizon, azure and pristine. The emerald grass sighed as it swayed to and fro, waving at him in a friendly manor. He was perched upon a stone fence that stretched itself across a narrow path, worn into the earth by the people who traveled to and fro from the Plantation to the surrounding cities.
He was a handsome young man, though he could be no more than sixteen years of age. His complexion was pale as the moon, auburn locks framing his unusually broad jawed face. His hair itself was the sort of hair that young women envied, thick, luscious hair that looked good no matter how you styled it. This young man, though, just woke up and wore his hair however it looked on that particular day. He was wearing the clothing of a young knight, a leather jerkin fastened over a brightly colored shirt, in this case violet, and black pants and heavy boots.
“Kratos!” a high, clear voice called out.
The young man jumped off the wall at the sound of his name, turning to greet his companion.
The boy who approached him was a Selveat.
The Selveat were strange creatures with ears that resembled those of a fox. Their eyes were always a shade of yellow and their pupils always slits. The particular Selveat in question was a lanky boy too tall for his age with hair the color of the crystalline sky and a peculiarly sharp face with hawkish features.
“Yuan!” He responded, waving his arm above his head in a single, wide arc.The Selveat smiled and jogged to greet Kratos, his ebony ears bobbing as he moved steadily forward. He came to a sliding stop in front of the young man, dust and small chunks of rock flying up into the air, almost colliding with him.
The two held eye contact for a brief moment before the boy broke out into a grin. “I’ve been accepted into the academy, brother!”
“At only thirteen and a Selveat, no less,” the young man responded in his deepening voice, a soft smile on his face.
Selveat were on the bottom of Tethe’alla’s current caste system, so a Selveat being accepted into a prestigious academy such as The Royal Academy was rare. Yet Yuan was bright, and Kratos had never had a doubt he could gain entrance and redeem the race, most notably because of the prominence of their adopted father, Tethro Charter.
Tethro was of The Kharlan Order, a group of individuals who devoted their entire life to the protection of The Giant Tree. This Tree was the source of Mana, which was the life blood of the very planet, and was shielded from all harm by The Sacred City, Midgar.
“If they give you problems you just tell them your brother is undergoing trials to become a Knight. Squire days no more,” he placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Yeah, no one will cross blades with a Human,” came a voice from behind them, on the opposite side of the wall. “Most defiantly not one as intimidating as you, brother Kratos.”
The girl on the other side was a young Elf with hair as pale as ash, her eyes clear and blue as the ocean. Her thin frame sported a silken dress the color of sunshine. Her face was round and her lips as full as flowers in bloom. She leaned on the short stone wall, her chin resting in the palm of one of her very tiny hands. She barely came over the wall while Kratos and Yuan towered over her.
“Spirutua.”
She beamed “, Congratulations, Yuan. I’m so proud of you.”
Kratos turned away, allowing Yuan his conversation with their sister.
The Charter family was a motley crew, the only real child of Tethro Charter being Rhuei , his daughter. The other four, Kratos, Aayrin, Yuan, and Spirutua, were all adopted into his lineage, and he didn’t seem to mind. He loved them all as he loved Rhuei. The warm man with his graying blonde hair and genial smile always had room in his home, and in his heart, for more.
Kratos himself had been with Tethro since infancy, and had been with him for the longest amount of time. He was the eldest child in their little group, brought to the Knight of Kharlan in the talons of a Protozoan the color of the brilliant and whimsical clouds. Tethro himself claimed that this had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. The impulsive young Knight was in need of some growing up, and a wailing infant had been just the cure to his arrogance. Ever since then he had been the dear father of Kratos, who was forever grateful that The Emissary of The Tree had demanded that Tethro take and raise the boy as his own.
Kratos himself aimed to become a Knight of Kharlan, following in the footsteps of his father. He wanted to help protect The Giant Kharlan Tree, the source of Mana, from the dangers of Aeseria. With out Mana, all life would cease to exist, and Aeseria would float, en empty husk, through space for all eternity. It was considered an honor to guard it, and Kratos was a prime candidate for the position. He had scored particularly high on all of The Academy’s tests, and was under the tutelage of Fortis Creed, who was considered a genius with the sword. Fortis had given his a stamp of approval, and Kratos was eternally grateful to his Teacher for his kind words. The only negative of the situation is that Kratos was often away from the Plantation and did not have much of a chance to see his father and siblings.
Of course, this also meant he had to first be Ordained as a Knight of either Tethe’alla or Sylvarant. Luckily enough for him, Master Creed had given him a month’s leave before his exam.
“Kratos?” Spirutua tapped him on the shoulder. “Are you all right? You seem out of it.”
“I was just… spacing out,” he admitted somewhat bashfully, rubbing his head in embarrassment.
She smiled “, Any way, as I was saying to Yuan, Father sent me to fetch you. Apparently there’s a man up at the house who was asking for you.”
"A … man?” he wondered aloud. “ What kind of man?”
“Well, he wasn’t Tethe’alla, that’s for sure. He had a Rheiard, and he was wearing some kind of collar with a gold plate studded with rubies attached to it,” she explained. “ He called himself Liam Yatotos, or some nonsense.”
“And Father trusts him?”
“He looked worried, so he sent me to get you this instant. Please hurry,” she pleaded. “You know how he worries for all of us, growing up so quickly.”
With a curt nod and distracted eyes, he spun, taking off to the Main House on the Plantation. His hair went out behind him like a crest of red, and the grass bent back from the breeze he created. It wasn’t long before he approached the Main House, its stone wall and iron gate flung wide open. It towered like a sleeping giant upon the sweet emerald grass, staring down at him with its glass eyes. He flung open the double doors, startling several of the people inside, who whispered after him, attentive to spreading rumors. He knew without a doubt that his father would be in the Drawing Room, attending to the guest’s needs. He flew up the flight of stairs, his feet barely touching the ground. Calming himself a bit at the entrance he pushed open the French Doors to reveal the man and his father.
His Father stood across from a strange man wearing a black leather jacket and many belts. On the lapel of the jacket was pinned a row of gold and silver stars that looked like something on a military uniform. He wore heavy combat boots with worn silver buckles, and loose fitting pants the color tan. His rusty locks were drawn into a tight bun at the nape of his neck, and his eyes, slate gray. were sharp as the edge of a blade, staring at him with something akin to relief.
What seemed a mere moment later the man fell prostrate on the oaken floor, proclaimed “,Antal Caelum!”
Tethro Charter hoisted the man up and growled in a deep, raspy voice, broken with rage. “ Tell him. What you told me. Now.”
The man named Liam glared with malice at Tethro and pushed him away. “Unhand me, Human.”
He turned to Kratos then, bowed once, and then stood up as straight as possible, at attention. “ You, young man, are Antal Caelum, Prince of the Valkyrie people. I lost you to a man named Peri Nebil almost seventeen years ago. You plummeted off a cliff and were saved by a Protozoan. I have come to return you to your father.”
It was a simple an explanation as he’d ever heard, but something that seemed too far-fetched to ever be true. He wasn’t sure what to do. Part of him wanted to laugh the man away, he was obviously insane, believing in the Valkyrie Faerie Tale. The Guardians of the Time Void Key were a story to keep children entertained, not some reality he was living in. Nothing that could rip holes in the fabric of Space Time could actually ever exist; even Tethe’alla’s scientists could not create something so fantastical, and they were considered to be the most advanced civilization in the world. The other part of him wanted to punch the man so hard in the face that he was rendered unconscious. He deserved it for upsetting Tethro, his father whom he loved.
“My name is Kratos,” is what he settled for, so livid he could barely speak, and it came out sounding like a threat.
“Antal Kratos-Caelum, then,” was the compromise
He snorted in disdain.
“I can tell you don’t believe my claim, but I have a test.” He produced a pendant similar to the one about his neck from within the folds of his jacket. “Our people receive a pendant on their sixteenth birthday to serve as a catalyst for the growth of their wings. If you put it on wings should sprout from your back, you are about that age after all. A simple test, and one that will easily prove my point.”
The man sounded so sickeningly sure that Kratos accepted the bet just to spite him.
“I accept, but if it does nothing, you get the hell out,” he spat in disgust.
He snatched the pendant and fastened it about its neck.
A disabling pain shot down his spine, driving him to his knees. He could feel his flesh ripping and hear his shirt tearing. He couldn’t with hold a scream, and couldn’t stop his convulsions.
Holy Kharlan. I can feel them. I can feel the wings. I can… move them.
Horror.