[i]Gold & Aristo[/i]
[center][h3]Twelve Years Ago
-The Citadel of the Final Queen-[/h3][/center]
 
[i]BOOM![/i]
 
Thunder shook the air as the massive hooves of Iao’s pegasus rampaged through darkening skies. The massive beast was known as “Pain” and it’s coat was as dark as night, it’s eyes as red as blood. Lightning cracked open the sky as each hoof pounded, and thunder boomed with each flap of its mighty wings. 
 
On top of the towering beast sat an eager Ai, all feelings of fear from the intense ride were cast aside and replaced with ambition and behind him sat Errocas. The younger boy was shielded from most of the hurricane winds pounding his older brother, giving him a clear watery eyed view of the citadel below. Should he have been here a week ago he would’ve seen massive towers rising from seemingly impenetrable walls, and an intricate city within, but now it’s walls were crumbled, sprinkled with the gory remnants of war, and surrounded by the camps of his father soldiers, tasked with cleaning up hollowed out city and rebuilding the great structure for their own use. 
 
The brother’s trip had been silent, and upon seeing the city, any comment from either would have been drowned out by the winds of flight. As the soldiers commonly known as the Anvil’s of Eden saw the approaching pegasus, they pounded their fists to their hearts, chanting together the name of Ai’s father, but as the son of Iao got closer, the chants slowly changed to his name. From behind his brother, Errocas silently wondered if his own name would echo from the lips of men. The pounding hooves of Pain matched their chants with strikes of lightning as it landed into a slow trot, until the chants and the mighty beast finally came to a stop.
 
A soldier wearing segmented strips of metal over a fur lining approached the brothers, dirt and sweat covering his aged brow and a pick with the blade of a war axe on the opposite end in his hands.
 
“Hail Ai, son of Iao,” he dropped his tool to salute the brothers with a fist to his chest, his voice was thick with the accent of the Aeslings. Errocas pouted, fidgeted on the saddle and made a tiny cough. 
 
The commander's eyes met Ai’s, offering a look of confusion to the brothers as he looked over to Errocas. Ai motioned towards his brother, “hail Errocas, youth of Iao.”
 
The Commander dipped his head in apology, “hail Errocas, youth of Iao. I beg forgiveness for my ignorance.”
 
“It’s quite alright,” the younger son replied, leaning out from behind Ai’s back. “But more importantly, where is Jericho? Have you seen him?”
“Master Jericho was last seen in the atrium of the enemy keep, that’s all I know, we’ve been busy on your father’s orders,” the commander quickly replied, his words sharp and to the point. 
 
“Thank you,” Ai looked over at Errocas, a look of worry on his face before turning back to the commander, “return to your posts, we are going to take entry.” 
 
“Should be safe sir,” the commander quickly answered.
 
“Even if it wasn’t, it looks a lot safer than the last time I was here,” Ai gave the man a smirk, attempting to conceal the strain of worry. 
 
“Of course, sir,” The commander saluted, offering a smile before spinning on his heel and returning to his idle soldiers with a cacophony of loud shouts, and barking orders.  
 
Ai quickly slid off the saddle of Pain, it taking a few seconds for his booted feet to reach the flattened grass. Errocas followed suit, reluctantly taking his brother’s aid on the way down.
 
“You don’t suppose Jericho’s in trouble, do you?” Errocas asked. “Father was adamant we find him right away.” The image of Iao’s bloated, bedridden body pointing towards the door filled his head, causing him to shudder. 
 
“No,” Ai muttered as he turned towards the beaten path that lead into the crumbled maw that once was the arching portal to the citadel.
 
“He is our father’s son, and our brother, there is no battle he can’t win,” Ai looked over to Errocas as they began their evening walk. Errocas hoped he was right.
 
The walk was quiet, or would have been if not for the sounds of construction around them, and the heaves of men lifting both block and corpses onto wagons. The smell of death had been scrubbed clean and replaced with the stink of plaster, and only the loudest evening birds challenged the casual banter of the soldiers that swarmed the outer walls, all too deep in their own work to notice the two brothers make their way into the citadel. 
 
Once inside it was clear that the theme of rubble was not forsaken, as crumbled buildings surrounded the brothers. While Errocas was entering the grey stone wreckage for the first time, Ai’s eyes were darting all around, soaking in familiar sights. The city wasn’t large by any standards, and was more of a ring of marts and homes surrounding the central keep, which now was the only building standing in its completeness, save for the massive hole where the thick oaken doors once were.
 
There were less soldiers the closer the brothers got to the keep, and the lingering smell of battle started to creep and overtake the smell of construction that reigned back at the walls. The taste of iron was still in the air, despite the battle being a day away, reminding Ai just how much blood was spilled. The further from the familiarity of the outside and the security of the soldiers they went, the closer Errocas stuck to his brother's side. He’d heard plenty of stories of battle, seen illustrations and watched men give their all in sparring. What he wasn’t prepared for was the aftermath firsthand - the sting in his nostrils, the blood staining his shoes, the moans of the dying.   
 
The brother’s stopped their walk at the mouth of the keep, their feet standing between the light of the rising moon and the shade of the abandoned castle. The atrium before them was wide and spacious, with two foyers split by an ascending staircase that lead to the upper levels. The furniture had been upturned, the candle stands knocked over, the carpets wrinkled, and the tapestries torn. It was clear a bloodbath took place here as the crimson stained every surface. The stone walls captured the distinct smell of murder that made even Ai cringe, knowing his troops flooded this keep at the height of the battle, far before he even took one step in it, and by then, the droves of slaughtered bodies were moved from the confined battleground. Ai looked blankly at the scene before him, his mind trying to comprehend the final moments as sorrow turned his stomach. 
 
“Disturbing isn’t it?” an Aesling voice broke Ai from his thoughts. The brothers turned to meet the old gaze of a tribesman, bile covering a dark apron, and the insignia of Iao clipped to his shoulder, marking him a Auxiliary.
 
“What happened here?” Errocas asked. He approached the haggard man cautiously. The Aesling looked like a boogeyman out of a children’s tale in his current state, but Errocas could only feel sorry for him.   
 
“War, battle, death,” The man listed, “but I just clean it up.”
 
“I was there,” Ai muttered, his eyes wide still, he could feel the remains of what emotion was ripped from the gurgling throats of the slain.
 
The man grew silent for a while, then a sympathetic look took over his visage, “I take it, young master, that this is the first time you revisited the killing grounds.”
 
Ai simply nodded as the man continued, “you know, in youth I wish someone had told me of the price of the battle. It’s not only the possible death of yourself or the death of whoever is at the odd end of the blade, but the unseen bonds severed, and the hearts broken.”
 
The man looked down grimly, “I had learned this the hard way, and yesterday I saw many a men who just learned it as well.”
 
Ai looked over to the man, silent but attentive, his wide eyes soaked in the macabre look of the man as Ai’s heart began to leap with anxiety, the beginnings of guilt swirling in his stomach.
 
“There was one man who learned it the hardest,” The Aesling continued, looking off to the stairs, “Uh-top yonder stairs. The man could only be described as a Stromist, true and fit, and yet he clutched the bloodied body of one of the resisters. I’ve seen men cry, and piss themselves in battle, but to hear the sobs of a heart breaking is chilling. The poor sod held a hand to her stomach in a way that made me fear more than one life was lost.”
 
Ai’s eyes grew dark, and the guilt spilled into his stomach, raging and certain, “who was this man?”
 
“I do not know,” The old Aesling remarked, “none of the Auxiliary sent in to clean the place really knew, but we were pulled recently from the surrounding villages. One of our boys tried to break it up, but now he is in the infirmary with burn wounds and a broken arm.”
 
“Burns?” Ai felt his blood freeze.
 
“Aye, from a lash of flame no less,” the man answered, not finding the detail as important as the moral of his story. 
 
Ai’s face flashed blank, his heart grew still and his veins grew cold with amassing guilt and anxiety. He stammered out his final remark, “w-where did he go?”
 
“East,” the old man answered, “to the swamps.”
 
“Ai. Do you think…?” Errocas clasped a hand to his brother’s shoulder as he began to suggest the unthinkable. From his stare, he knew the eldest had come to the same conclusion. “Quick! We have to go out there!”