Chapter 13: The Epic of Gilwar

O, great King Gilwar, who heard you tale? Who knows your true tale? Nobody of the living people, at least. Why is that so? Why are you forgotten? Not in a million years, you should be forgotten. But you are. It's time to change that.

Our story begins with a hero destined to be king, if he defeats all the obstacles in his path. A path, that won't be easy. After many hard months and even harder obstacles, he is near his goal. Will he succeed? If the old stories are true… maybe…

Gilwar turned; his face was filled with dread. How many more must he defeat, to achieve his goal? A goal, that seemed to be farther than ever before. Nothing, in this world, could defeat his iron will. He stopped, looked in front of him. Must he kill his own people to achieve his goal?

A lonely woman walked towards him. Her eyes are black as night. Something was terribly wrong with her. She walked like a puppet. Gilwar moved a step back shocked. There was no way, that that woman could walk.

Gilwar waited. She moved a step forward. His hand moves closer to his sword. She moves closer. His eyes wander. She stops. His sword flashes against the darkness of the night. The creature moves back with amusement.

The sword dances, it was hypnotizing. Blood sprays the ground. Gilwar turns, walks away. The woman rises, her eyes are black as night. She rushes at him. He dodges, with an upward slash; he cuts her in half. The severed body falls to the ground. It's, finally, over. He was terribly mistaken. The bloody parts gather themselves, the woman stood up. Gilwar turned, again, towards the woman. The woman transformed into a hideous monster that was deprived of all emotions. It only wanted to kill.

Gilwar gave the signal:

“Fire, at once!”

Arrows fly into the air, each of the arrows hits the target. The creature knelt. Gilwar hesitated. The creature stood up. There is no turning back now. He jumped; the creature looked at him, blankly. It was over. The creature fell, for the last time.

“Burn the body! It must be burned!” the captain shouted.

The soldiers made the pyre, placed the body; it burned differently than any other fire.

In a house, a man stood up. He looked across the room; there was something terrifying in his gaze, something unnatural. He was nervous, like he expected something. But what is he expecting? Something or someone? Not even, he was sure.

Gilwar looked at the pyre that burned. His face was emotionless. There was something strange in the air. He turned. He was sure that he felt it. He turned again. There was nothing. He felt it again.

What happened then, o great king? Who guided your arm? What power did it guide? Why is this part forgotten? Why are you forgotten? Took for some fairy tale of yore? The true tale was much stronger and darker than any fairy tale. Why are you forgotten?

He felt a surge of power through him, power that wasn't from this world. He turned. The power was stronger now, much stronger. It coursed through him, filling every pore with power that was uneven in this world. Not even, the great Althar was strong enough to defeat that power. A voice, more an echo than a voice, appeared to his left. Everything around him changed. The voice became louder:

“You are destined to be king.”

“Why me?” he asked.

“Faith has chosen you. Will you answer?”

“Yes,” he replied without emotion.

“So, be it. I will teleport you, be ready.”

“For what?”

“You will see.”

The portal opened near the strange man. His face, now, had a shade of fear all over. He slipped. Gilwar appeared from the portal. The man got up. Looked at his sword, it was a strong piece of steel, it will take blows. He rushed, Gilwar avoided. The man stumbled. Gilwar waited. He got up and lunged at him. The man was fast. Gilwar dodge, but slow, the sword slashed his elbow. A fountain of blood sprayed the area. The man lunged again, this time, Gilwar parried. The sword went into the man's shoulder. Blood gushed in streams. The man went backward. He tried to slash, Gilwar moved to the side. He lifted the sword high above his head. The man lifted the sword up to his eyes. Gilwar struck the sword with all his might. The sword broke, on impact, into a million of pieces, but the sword didn't stop, it went into the man head that broke like a melon with its red juice spilling in every direction. Gilwar lifted his blood-sprayed head. He looked around:

“Faith was right.”

“More than right,” the voice said again.

“Show yourself.”

“If that's what you wish.”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” the voice disappeared, in front of him stood, the goddess of war, Alera.

He bowed in respect.

“You are the chosen king. Your reign starts now!”

From him our main hero traces his line.