Mitaldra

ITS BEEN PLAGUING THE BACK of my mind since we set out for Gaia. The irritating voice hasn’t left me alone since I watched my brother’s body hang and turn blue, and even here in the heart of battle its nonsensical whispers control my actions.  

I have never felt something like this before, not being in control of your own body. Its like my soul is trapped somewhere down below while another spirit takes control. I’m a passenger in my own flesh.  

I wanted Gaia for its riches, its people, its sheer power. I wanted Gaia because it would place me on a pedestal higher than the other kings and queens. But now things are very, very wrong.  

Its whispers are cold, so very cold, and even though I cant understand what it’s saying by hearing, I feel it in my head.  

Go to the palace.  

Gaia’s army have already begun to retreat. The roughly sixty men are all headed towards the palace. I’m not sure what this voice is, but maybe its trying to help me. Maybe its giving me advice.  

Take the drakon.  

I turn and I beckon the drakon nestled atop the bleachers to come down. The five drakon are all middle aged, almost two hundred years old. The much older ones aren’t fit to fly, but they’re like tanks on a battlefield.  

The drakon on the bleacher flies down and lands beside me, its rider, an armoured soldier, peering over the head of the spiked scales that run across its back.  

“I want  to ride it.” I say, and the man nods, whispering something to the creature and petting its skin. The drakon turns and looks at me, its skull almost five times bigger than my body, its eyes narrowing as if evaluating me.  

I don’t show fear, and after a few more seconds of intense stares it droops its armoured neck low so I can climb onto it. The previous rider jumps down and allows me to climb. From this height, I can see everything.  

“There,” I point, rubbing its scales. The beast flares its nostrils as it begins flapping its wings. I grab onto a sharp mini horn as it runs forward. Wind whips through my hair and even through my gold armour I still feel the cold air.  

After gaining momentum, it takes off into the air almost vertically. I’m caught off guard at first, but still hold on to the protruding horn, keeping myself on its back. The wind that was once calm fights to throw me off the drakon and towards my death, but I bear on.  

Everything below me vanishes when it soars straight into the inky black clouds. Between the clouds, there’s a storm. Bright lightning flashes and thunder rages, but the drakon continues on, the spikes on its tail whipping in the harrowing wind.  

I can almost still hear the sound of fighting down on the battlefield even though I’m so high up I cant see it. My thoughts are preoccupied by the lightning striking within the cloud and the voice in my head.  

You must destroy the water tribe palace.  

Abruptly, the drakon drops down through the clouds. It feels almost like a tunnel of cloud with walls of lightning around us, and luckily, very luckily, I don’t get struck.  

We leave the clouds and I realise we are now only a few moments from reaching the water palace. If I burn it down, where will I rule from? The water tribe palace is the biggest of all the elder palaces. I can burn something else, but not this— Suddenly, I feel like I’m losing control of my limbs. No matter how much I try to turn the drakon away, it doesn’t work. My hands don’t move. It still powers on, and now I realise how true my words were.  

I am a passenger in my own flesh.  

“Burn it down.” My voice breaks out, but its not my words. Its like I’m a direwolf on a leash, doing what his master commands. I am not in control.  

Flame explodes from the jaw of the drakon and slams against the water tribe palace, sending it ablaze. Windows implode in on themselves as fire spews through the hallways like blood through a vein.  

“No!” I yearn to scream, but my mouth doesn’t open. My face remains stoic, rigid, emotionless.  

This isn’t how today was supposed to go. 

My hand moves and motions for the drakon to land. Not my movements. I am no longer in control. The creature perches itself on the highest turret of the now burning palace, wrapping its spiked tail around its length. It lowers its head into the shattered window of the turret, placing me inside a small room that holds nothing more than loose rope and weapons.  

My hands reach for a sword and shield as my ears close to the madness down below. The drakon roars, but even so I still hear the screams of innocent civilians. Their death does not hurt me—end justifies the means—but nobody is meant to be killed out of reason. Only those who oppose me, only those who are threats. Innocent people are not threats. Above me, the slanted roof of the turret groans with the weight of the drakon resting on it.  

My legs start moving and suddenly I’m sprinting down a long, twisted stairwell. I don’t know where my body is taking me, and I am powerless to stop it.  

I open a door at the bottom of the stairwell and walk down a hallway. Smoke has sifted from outside through the shattered pane glass walls, clouding the hall in a thick mist. Where the hell am I going?  

The whispering still continues as I walk, and with every step I take it grows even louder. I’m supposed to be focusing on finding the monarchy and slaughtering them, not off within the burning walls of the palace, miles away from the battlefield.  

I pass by some frightened servants running through the halls in a bid to escape, and thankfully whatever is puppeteering my body doesn’t stop or give them the light of day. Their screams are horrendously annoying, but they are not threats.  

Turning left, I am met with a dark hallway that leads to another long flight of stairs hidden behind large five inch thick crimson doors. One of the doors has been left slightly ajar, and three corpses are strewn beside it. They are not my soldiers, the fyrebird crest on their armour is Gaia’s symbol. 

I open the door and pick a torch off the walls, beginning my descent into the darkness below. The place looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, and after every ten steps or so I am met with iron gates that I simply destroy using my earth magic. The thing that moves me must really want whatever lies at the bottom of these stairs.  

And so it continues, down and down until I cant even see the top of the stairs. Deep under the palace, under the battlefield, the stairs still go on. Its like a never-ending cycle. Walk. Destroy gate. Walk. Destroy gate.  

Silently, I thank myself for not allowing Kamara to come into battle. She didn’t beg to go, but she also wasn’t necessarily against it. After living in darkness her whole life, she surrounded herself with books and such. She has only ever read about battle, and I quaintly suggested that one of her first experience’s outside the palace not be on a battlefield. Even so I could feel anger within her, but I’m not sure why.  

I try to take control back from my body, but the force smothering me is too strong. Thinking about Kamara won’t solve my problems.  

Finally, I break the final gate and find myself inside a cave bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. The cave is as big as my palace in Vahaltmir is tall, with long, jagged spikes forming on the ceiling tops and airy wind blowing in through holes in the mossy stone walls. Two steps in front of me, the floor drops into a steep cliff that stretches down below farther than my eyes can see.  

In the middle of the cave resting on a stone island separated from me by the canyon within the cliff is a large, tesseract like glowing crystal. Its over ten times bigger than me, and the ethereal glow it gives off lights the cave with a haunting vermillion shade of red.  

Suddenly, my hand lurches forward. I almost scream out, but my lips refuse to open. Inside of me my doorway to the ether opens and magical energy flows through my veins and explodes out of my palms.  

I’ve never used my magic this way, many don’t. Its physically draining using magic in its raw form, and only ever used to give magic to rituals and the like. The armour on my body begins to bubble as it melts.  

I feel the urge to cry, but the tears don’t come. I feel the urge to shout, to let out my pain, but my mouth is clamped shut. I’m a prisoner in my own skin.  

The energy from my palms hits the centre of the blood red crystal, which only makes its glow brighter. My body ripples and shakes as a crack forms in the crystal, running through its form like lightning. The energy keeps flowing out of me as the sound of the crystal slowly breaking echoes through the hollow cave.  

Then, with an earth shattering explosion of bright red light, the crystal erupts.  

Millions of glassy shards fly around the cave, lodging themselves into walls and some exploding on impact. My body lurches and I fall forward onto the dirt. I instinctively know when I have control again. Feeling my worn limbs, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  

“Thank you.”  

Quickly I stand from the dirt, scanning the cave. I’m the only one here, so who said that?  

A flicker of a shadow moves on the side of the wall, clutching its chest. I raise my sword as a warning. My bones are still trembling from my use of raw magic. Right now, I’m not in the shape to fight.  

“Come out or I run you through.” I warn.  

“I said thank you.”  

My eyes narrow as a shadow washed figure walks towards me. A man with a young, pale face stumbles out of the darkness. His features look almost androgynous, with cold, piercing black eyes and short raven coloured hair. He’s about my height, if not taller, and something about him and the scarlet vest he wears puts my teeth on edge. Even more odd is the fact that the shadow around the walls seems to move with him, like he commands darkness.  

“W-who are you?” I try to keep my voice from shaking, but fail. The man winces in pain, but manages to laugh.  

“They called me Peyrian Biord.” His voice is smooth, yet every word he says carries power. “How long ago was that even? I don’t remember—”  

“Do not come any closer.” I point my sword. “I’m armed.”  

“You didn’t say you’re welcome. I said thank you for removing me from that crystal.”  

“You were...” my eyes trail back to where the now destroyed crystal once stood. “Inside it?”  

The whisper rushes back into my head, and my shoulder tenses. Peyrian laughs again, staring at me with his strangely enticing eyes.  

“You’re the whisper.” I say, taking a tentative step back. “I’ve heard your name before. Peyrian Biord. If only I could remember—”  

“Save me the theatrics, Queen Mitaldra.” He says, stepping closer as I step further. If he’s the whisper, that means he controlled me too. He wanted me to release him from that crystal.  

“Who are you?” I scream as he presses his palm onto the sharpness of my blade, pushing me down to the ground with it. A whimper leaves my lips as I shift back onto the gravel. Peyrian closes me in and steps over me, watching me, eyes narrowing. My breaths are already heavy and laboured, yet this strange man who just escaped from a prison of crystal looks calm as ever.  

“They call me...” he licks his lips, inching closer to me, his breath like fresh ash across the nape of my neck. “The dark god.”