• Introduction


    Long ago, the Gods bestowed upon this world five elements, in which they felt was needed, in order to prolong their creations – Earth, Fire, Water, Wind, and Magic. Earth gave them Shelter. Fire gave them Light. Water gave them Life. Wind gave them Change. Magic gave them Freedom.

    With Magic, human beings could take the shape of any animal. With Magic, they could heal a burn or a scrape, even cure an illness. With Magic, they could cause destruction. With Freedom, they had become invincible, thereby enabling them to become so conceited to call themselves Gods.

    Enraged by such sacrilege, the Gods struck them with the Great Cataclysm. They forsook their creation and sought something else. Thence, War and Chaos plundered their world, ravaging places in which animal and being could call home. It raged on for centuries until finally, the Gods decided that it was time to split their world in two, one for Mortals and the other, for Immortals.

    In doing so, the Gods had decided to relinquish the element of Magic. They divided the element in three forms – Wild, Shape-shifting, and Healing – and blessed a sizeable fraction of their creation with these forms. The Magic of Healing had been given to the Vinnengaelian Elves. Shape-shifting fell to the Shadow Wolves. Wild Magic fell upon a fraction of humans.

    In order that the Age of Man may begin, the Gods brought those with the magical gift, or those who had been affected by Magic’s liberty, to journey across the edge of the world. And they did. Thus, a new world known as Kalypso was born.

    My family, otherwise known as the Dsurions, originated from Scotland, twice removed from Merlin’s line. Thence, as Time evolved into centuries and then many a millennia, my family acquired different magical traits, each attained from Wild Magic.

    As Merlin became Legend, Magic became a Curse, thereby constricting my family into silence. When someone had discovered about the intensity of our Wild Magic, many of the villagers feared us and swore for our deaths. They killed my family upon the gallows. I was the youngest and merely six years old when it occurred. When I was the sole survivor of that wretched memory.

    Knowing no other place left to call home, I mustered my remaining strength to face England, where she discovered my talent for thievery. When I excelled in my area of expertise, I joined the Thieves Guild. Never wanting to suffer such torment in Scotland, I revealed nothing to the new friends I acquired quickly about my magic.

    I swore myself into secrecy to attain justice for my family. Knowing the Thieves Guild had no more need for me, I went on to pursue further in my magic.

    Thus, I came across a man whom I began to recognize as my Father. And because of the trust in which we developed, this man named King Philip bit me, transforming me into one of his kind - Vycan. Since then, I had become a royal, one of the known heirs of the Vycan throne.

    Which now leads us to the current year, 1400 AD, in Kalypso. A world filled with vandalism, vagrancy, burglary and common deceptions, all unbridled from within mortal beings. Yet above all these wrongdoings, we seem to lead the world to the most prominent event, as if we were preparing for the annual famed Mid-Summer Night's festival - The Kalypsian Wars. Except now, it was an enraged war between the Vycanians, the wolven hybrids, and the Silverians, the wolven shape-shifters.

    If one were to ask how this grand event took place, neither side will tell you the right story. Our people - our armies, merchants, civilians - didn't know much about it. Only that they were hated by the other. Only that they had been at war with each other for several centuries. Only that they sought no such peace amongst themselves.

    When a mortal suggests a compromise from either nation - they were ridiculed to the Abyss. The thought was like how one would dream of Utopia to be - chimerical. So how could the war end? It can't. It never will, until the last breath of Vengeance has been swept away by the plunging of a sword into the last survivor of this long war.

    Thus, it is the pedestal which Kalypso now clings to. It is our war that keeps our world economy thriving, the black market from being diminished. It is our war that is the reason for so many deaths, many grievances, many disappointments.

    I wish I could speak euphorically regarding such matters, but Calypso knows I cannot. She knows too, that I, Kitiara Dsurion, can no longer bear the thought of further bloodshed in my future reign. The war must end. But will it? I wonder.

    Memories


    It was mid-morning when I awoke in my capacious tent. My eyes gazed up at the tent’s ceiling, studying its canvas, my eyes trailing past every thread, my mind contriving different ways at how it was knitted.

    The threads woven into the thick and dense canvas marveled her – the thought of each knit giving support to attach all of the canvas’ pieces together. It was as if it were a system – if one was torn, the rest would follow, and soon, it all pieces would detach from one another.

    It had been years since I had last saw such unity and strength in my people. Instead of presiding in our homeland – working, paying their lords, living Life to its fullest – Vycania has now forced her people to fight this war. To end this bloodshed. Thus since then, I have never stepped foot upon our castle. And that was nearly four centuries ago. Amazing to know I am still alive.

    Like every other day, I knew this day was going to be one like the rest – we will go to a battle against the Silverians until dusk sets in, taking into account afterwards the number of casualties we suffered. The only difference to this day than the others was that I would lose my brother to this bloodshed.

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    Heaving a sigh, I sat up slowly, hearing the joints in my bone creek with a groan. I quickly slipped my nightgown off, and tossed it aside. My right hand automatically reached a place in my tent where my maids would leave my royal regalia over the chair’s back. Gripping it firmly, I tugged and within a swift motion, slipped the gown over my head, bearing it perfectly and smoothing it out.

    When I was deemed ready, as I slipped on my fur leathered boots, I took a step away from my tent, exiting through its mouth. The first step away from my tent was always hard, as it had meant that I would have to leave my memories behind and focus on the dangers laid ahead. But nonetheless, I forced my feet to obey the rhythm I was set out to walk today.

    Ignoring the webs of light in which the blazing sun now shone upon our encampment, I made my way to my brother’s tent, which was 5 miles apart from my own, my feet determined to reach there – even if my face burned at the sun’s fury.

    It took longer than I’d expected, as I had to weave my way past the buzzing cacophonies of – men cleaning up our encampment, men saddling up their mounts, servants and squires assisting their masters. By the time I reached my brother, whose name was Calonnau, he was up and suited in his armor. He was merely saddling up his horse to join his men in battle.

    “This is odd. You’re always up later than me,” I offered with a frown, concerned as to why his habits had changed today.

    “I decided to have a head start, Kit. Word says that the Silverians are now marching behind their crowned Prince Tanis,” Calonnau replied grimly, tightening the strap from the saddle automatically.

    “That still doesn’t make sense,” I interjected, cutting him short, my hands lashing out to meet his own, all in an effort to get his full attention, “What is going on? Why the grim face?”

    Of course, call me an ignominious child – showing a grim face and waking up early were merely signs of what every soldier had to go through in times of battle, as they lived on a fine line, their lives dangling upon Fate. But it was his nerves that forced me to question.

    “Kit – do not come to this. I know you wish to fight, and you have been dutifully fulfilling your duty as a Princess to support her people by fighting alongside our men – but please, I entreat that you stay,” Calonnau began as he stopped whatever he was doing, turning himself to fix his gaze upon my face.

    “If you do, Sorrow and Despair will be beside you from now on, not me. Prince Tanis is renown amongst the Silverian to be a tough man in battle. Not even our weapons, specially design to poison them, can penetrate past his skill,” Calonnau explained.

    I would have wished to argue with him. In fact, I was going to, but he had stopped me and frowned, thus throwing a glare in which I understood quite well.

    In Vycan culture, we do not reveal our emotions. Rather, we hide them behind a barrier, and tuck these emotions and distresses within the lockets of our hearts. Why, you ask, do we do so? It is said, and passed down from our families, that revealing such feelings only make a Vycan weaker, thus providing our enemies a loophole to fixate themselves deeper into our core.

    With that, my brother blessed me with a kiss upon my forehead, which caused my head to burn in painful memory at the last time I would ever see him. Then, he mounted on his war horse and steered it, kicking it sides in a notion for it to move forward. I waved back to say goodbye, even though he didn’t return it. It was then I knew that it was the last time we ever spoke, the last time we ever saw each other, the last time we were known as brother and sister, prince and princess.