[i]Gold & Aristo[/i]
[center][h3]Twelve Years Ago[/h3][/center]
[center][b]Doma[/b]

[url=https://youtu.be/R-t66icl1YA?t=32m4s]Mood Music[/url][/center]

	Inside the white stone walls of the tower of Iao, a young Ai walked the spiraling hallway with an even younger Errocas. The older brother was clad in fine furs and an all too familiar band of metal covered his arms and chest. Two tiny hoops jutted out of his shoulders where a fanciful yet absent cape was to be pinned and a young yet thoughtful face conquered his visage in the same way he had just conquered the last holdout of the Aeslings just a day ago.

	His thick black hair was pulled back, letting his fierce eyes focus forward with little distraction as he walked by the side of his youngest sibling. Errocas was dressed in a much simpler panoply, devoid of the lustre of his brother’s. A simple navy tunic and ring of jet professed his station. A pair of inquisitive eyes occasionally looked towards Ai before darting back to the carpet below, as though looking into the sun and regretting it immediately after.

	Finally, “How did you do it, Ai?” the youngest spoke, “Defeat the Aeslings, I mean.”

	Ai nearly stopped in his tracks as the image of the battle struck him, but then he kept walking, slowing his pace only to make sure he had Errocas’ attention. He looked over to his younger brother and shook his head, “it was something else, I didn’t expect it myself, but it was all our father.”

	“The Aeslings lost the war nearly a year ago, if you remember, officially I mean, but there was one queen left who refused to assimilate into our Empire, remember?” Ai held the smile of a tutor. 

	Errocas grimaced as he recalled the tedium of countless lectures. “Yeah. But she was different. What made her so special? ”

	“I’m not too sure,” Ai chewed his cheek, hating to admit lack of knowledge, “but as Father put it, if one stood, they all stood.”

	Almost a little too eager Ai waved a hand, “but anyways, the siege! Do you really wanna know!?”

	Errocas gave his brother a firm nod, hands balled into little fists full of conviction.

	“Okay so,” Ai began to gesture with his hands, as if placing the various regiments on an invisible battle map, “we were all lined up like this, Jericho on the west, me on the east, we were going to pincer an entire holding, I had spent all night in the books and notes formulating the best approach since Father put me to the task. Admittedly I made a mistake and misjudged how much the fortified walls of the Queens citadel could take and we were getting nowhere fast.”

	“We weren’t losing,” Ai quickly added, “it was just taking a long time, and time is everything in war.”

	Ai smiled as if remembering the exact image, “but then our Father arrived.” 

	The older brother stopped walking and put his hand on Errocas’ shoulder, “he walked up to the walls, not flinching as arrows whizzed by his ear, the sharp heads too afraid to touch our father. All our soldiers stopped in awe at what happened next. He stood a mere three feet from the mighty citadel walls and with one breath he finally said, ‘Kneel.’ The battle grew eerily quiet as the walls themselves obeyed our Father and crumbled to his feet in a loyal bow. It was indescribable.” 

	Ai’s eyes were saucers, “you could feel the spirit of Stromism flood around him, it was impossible for even our own soldiers not to kneel at the command.”

	With a breath Ai started walking again, his hand leaving Errocas’ shoulder, “after that, it was as simple as flooding through the breach and finishing what was started.”

	Visions of battle cavorted in Errocas’s head, of his father’s banners flying high atop the walls of the Aesling citadel. It was enough to sate the imagination of any twelve-year-old for a while. 
	Several moment later, Errocas turned again to Ai and asked, “If- If Father hadn’t been there. What then?” His gaze held a childlike sense of wonder, wide-eyed and expectant. Perturbing, almost, given the connotation of the question.

	Ai shrugged, a cocky smirk on his face as they approached the steps that would take them to their father’s private floor. 

	“The way I see it,” Ai finally answered, “no matter what we would have won. The plan was pretty good despite the shortcomings, and even still the Aeslings couldn’t stay held up there forever. Father had a few good words about it himself. He has been teaching me to rule next to him after all!”

	“Yeah. I guess so,” mumbled Errocas. He shuffled his feet at the bottoms of the steps.
Ai’s words were a swift reminder of who the eldest one was. Which one of them was destined for greatness, to rule. 

	Ai looked down at his mumbling brother and sighed, “maybe I got a little egotistical right there.”

	He pinched his chin in thought, “I’m trying to work on that, our tutors aren’t exactly fond of how… arrogant some of us get, namely me.” He smiled as if telling a joke.

	Silence overtook Ai as they climbed the first step, “but hey, I’ve heard Exarch Corros has been talking to Father a lot lately, and they’ve been asking questions about you to your tutors, even Jericho and I.”

	Errocas froze a moment, then regained his composure. “Like what?” he inquired, sounding more suspicious than curious. “What does the old coot want with me when you’re the heir?”

	“I’d be a little more respectful towards our oldest family friend save Kabius,” Ai huffed, “especially since he has been curious to your impressive progression, and being childless, I sometimes wonder if all those questions about you equate to becoming his ward, but as I know it, it was Father who started the talks.”

	Ai skipped up a few steps, “come to think of it, he has been doing a lot of planning these last few weeks.”

	“Hmph.” Errocas nearly stumbled as he bounded after his brother, grimaced, then climbed at his own pace. “What about Jericho? He’s as old as you, and has just as much experience.”

	“Jericho.” Ai echoed the name, it was hard to tell what Ai thought of his twin, “Jericho has been distant for a while. I’ve heard rumors that Father has noticed his lack of interest in the Empire, and even his laze in battle orders.”

	“I- I haven’t really talked to him,” Ai admitted, it seemed hard to say as the two used to be inseparable before the tasks of early adulthood stole their attentions away, “sometimes I think he might just be angry with me, but I didn’t choose for things to be this way.”

	Ai grew silent and his eyes focused on the remaining stairs.

	“I like Jericho,” Errocas added plainly. “He knows a lot.”

	Ai gave a forlorn smirk and looked over at Errocas, “me too.”

	After a few more steps, the brothers pushed the heavy oaken door aside, and the dim evening light flooded their eyes, spilling in from the wall slits. All around them hung elaborate quilts, fabrics and flags depicting military feats of yore and new. Besides the tapestries, the room was rather plain, with only a personal dining area being of note. A crisp forest air clung to the atmosphere of the room, and the emptiness only brought a strange feeling of calm among the many battles shown. A mighty door stood opposite from the brothers and through it was the bedchambers of their father, but blocking them from the way was a troubled looking Corros by the dining table, wooden cup in hand.

	Upon seeing the boys he perked up and placed his cup down, “there you two are!” He said urgently, “I called for you so long ago-” he shook his old white fringed head wildly, “ you know what it doesn’t matter!”

	“Corros, what’s wrong?” Ai furrowed his brow.

	“Your father has requested you two.” Corros placed a firm hand on Errocas as he shuffled the two towards the door.

	“Wha-what about Jericho?” Errocas protested out of confusion, Ai nodding in concurrence. 

	“He has yet to return from the battle.” Corros answered grimly.

	“What!?” Ai’s voice was clearly worried.

	“Not now!” Corros hushed the two sons of Iao as he pushed them through the door, “it is important you talk to your father right away.”

	The trio burst into Iao’s room, and there on his large velvet bed was their father. He had no sheets covering his massive form, but various weapons by his sides. His skin was the color of scarlet, a color the brothers grew to know very well and a primal shock of white hair grew from his scalp and chin. The muscular Archon of war laid still, fiery eyes the color of the sun peered at Ai happily, and then at Errocas. 

	A thick yet usually deft hand rose from Iao’s side and he reached lazily towards his youngest, a smile broke his frowning red face and he uttered softly, yet strangely still in a room shaking baritone, “Errocas…”

	Suddenly the hand slowly fell back down to the bed, and the mighty God of Battle’s eyelids slid over his eyes as he grew silent. 

	“...Father?” Errocas rasped. “Father!” The boy darted past his brother to the bedside where Iao lay. Errocas halted some feet from the hulking form, failure to comprehend the nature of his own father preventing him from leaping up on the mattress and embracing him. This form was alien, unnatural.

	Ai quickly followed suit, but unlike Errocas he reached out and grabbed his father’s hand, the fist of the man filling both of Ai’s.

	“Don’t worry too much,” Corros approached behind the sons, sweat on his own brow betraying his own advice, “he has been slipping in and out of sleep for a while now.”

	“What, why?!” Ai demanded.

	“I do not know,” Corros answered, flinching at Ai’s tone, clear inheritance from the boy’s father lacing his voice, “but- but the Stromism is strong.”

	“Tell me what you know,” Ai growled. And from Errocas, “Why does he look like this?”

	“Jericho!” Corros stuttered, he seemed as thrown off guard by the whole scenario as much as the sons, “he keeps mentioning Jericho, he wants you to go find Jericho, that is his only command.” 

	Ai was about to protest but suddenly almost as if listening to the three talking, a strange apparition flickered over Iao, and a eerie arm the color of ethereal floated out of Iao’s torso. The ghost limb mirrored that of one of Iao’s physical arms, only this one’s hand was pointing towards the door as if to say “Go.”

	Ai and Corros both looked at each other, both aware that the powers of Iao were allowing him to communicate. Without further challenge, Ai looked down at his younger sibling.

	“Errocas,” Ai said sternly, “we need to find Jerricho.”

	The younger boy nodded weakly, having not entirely came to terms with the bizzarity of the situation before him. Corros had hardly told them anything and now they were supposed to leave? 

	“Where will we go?” he asked softly.

	“The Citadel.” Ai looked over at Corros who simply nodded, “Corros, prepare Pain, we need to move fast.”

	“I’ll have your father’s pegasus ready before you reach the stables,” Corros answered. He and Ai rushed out of the room. Errocas lingered at the door, looking back at the swollen body of his father. Then he gulped, tore his eyes away and followed after the others.