Fire from the East

Only a true phoenix is ever capable of taming the flame.

The prophecy. Those were the very words my late brother whispered unto my ears before the darkness took him. The feel of his warm breath still sends shivers up my spine even in memory. A true warrior he was. He led our people at a very young age of 16. A true King. But he was no flame tamer. He had the temper of a teaspoon. His bipolar eccentricities were his only flaws. He led our people, fought countless battles. But just hours before he died, the enemy continued forging their way from the South. 

The Wildlings, our generals call them. A dominion of godless, merciless, spineless horde who once, collectively, dwelt among the forest of the vast Southern lands. It is said that to date, 5 years after Lerion's death, the wildlings have doubled their army. That the best we could do was not only to recruit and train boys of the fighting age of 16 but to build a fortress. A dozen league high wall with almost the same in width. That there is no hope for us when the beasts invade. 

This is cowardice! Every inch of me bellowed. 

This was not the same mentality my late brother has instilled upon our people. My brother was our strength. He was my strength. But he is not with us now. It has been as such for half a decade. 

When the throne was passed, it came to me as a burden more than a gift. At the age of 18, I knew nothing about leading a city or war or life. But the years have scrapped every part of soul and it has taught me that war does not eradicate cowardice nor does it build up strength. War numbs you. Every part of your viscera. That sometimes death does not need blood be split but it always needs souls be emptied.

I have seen the faces of war. For years I have protected my people as an act of promise to the rulers before me. I have killed countless men, soldiers and I have died everyday since then. Five years I have led my soldiers against these so-called Wildings. The strongest armor, the sharpest swords, the thickest shield and the fastest horse were all my glamour. My true identity unknown.

I have won battles, never lost, but everyday has been defeat. There was no other way to destroy the enemy. The enemy that we've yet to see. Al Rodog.

At the age of 23, I sit on a throne paved with the purest of gold. At the age of 23, I have led battalions upon battalions of soldiers outside our city walls for battle. At the age of 23, I have been fighting a century old war with a nomad enemy who, despite having lost hundreds of men in every battles, are still growing in numbers. 

The whole "Phoenix" prophecy should be deemed fallacious...

"BRING THE PRISONER!"

The locks on my cell chimed. It has been a week since I last saw the outside of my prison walls.

"Al Rodog will see you now." A stout bearded man, with an usual set of spectacles, stood at the door. On his left arm clung the keys to General Unin's cell.

"Now now. You mustn't think daft thoughts. You two will never make it out of here alive." He scoffed. "Name's Domeo. And I assure you if you will just cooperate, unlike the previous days, you might probably have the chance to negotiate with the Al. That's why you were sent here right? To negotiate?"

He led me out into what looked like their fortress' dungeon prison cells. The smell of dead rats reeking through every walls.

"Where are the other prisoners?" I queried.

"The Al does not take prisoners. Saves him the time and effort to transport them here".

Murderous bastard. I shouted mentally but then I reckoned, weren't we all?

The walk out the dungeon then led us to the training field (one that was twice the size as ours in the city) , across was the a rather aesthetically odd tent. I imagine this is where Al Rodog stays but Domeo took a detour to the left towards the south wing of the whole fortress. And alas, at the end of the seemingly cold corridor lies the gates of my very doom. Two colossal doors opened and with my last step I entered the hall of my final judgement. 

For the first time since my brother died, I was afraid.

In the middle of the room stood the bane of my family's existence. His back against the court, his very presence excruciating. I could very well destroy him with just an abrupt toss of a sword. Just one strong dart despite the chains on my wrists. Just. One. Swift. Thro...

"What message from your Queen?" He began.

Then, it dawned upon me. 

He too does not know his enemy...

I am Simbelmyne Helios, Queen of the Eastern Kingdoms of Bellan. Only daughter of the great King Eodor and sister of the late King Lerion. For centuries a war has been upon our kingdom from a once unknown enemy. Whispers of a prophecy has been going around for decades, the same prophecy that is thought to destroy this enemy. Only a true phoenix is ever capable of taming the flame.

I am Simbelmyne Queen of Bellan's Eastern Kingdoms and I am the last of the lineage of the Phoenix...