Origins (Book 4 of Alfireán age)

Prologue

Aloralex Intelus gazed out over the moonlit ocean as the final flicker of Vackzilian's hologram vanished into the night.

His grey eyes traced the distant outline of Madagascar across the dark blue waters.

And so it begins, he thought to himself.

Images of war and death, long forgotten, resurfaced, stirring a sickening feeling in his stomach.

Intelus' mask burned hot against his face as the waves sloshed against the pier. Shaking off the haunting images, he squared his shoulders, turned, and marched down the pier.

It was time to leave the past behind.

The wooden boards creaked under his leather-clad feet, and the smell of salt wafted to his nose as bioluminescent waves lapped against the beach.

It was a picturesque scene, one he failed to notice, for all he could see were the dozens of fear-filled eyes watching him from their stilted bamboo huts. Intelus reached up and touched his charred black mask; it still burned hot.

The screams of past victims clawed at his mind, and memories of countless nights spent in prison seethed within him.

He quickened his pace.

Upon reaching the end of the pier, Intelus strode across the shoreline toward a group of blood oaths reclining around a table.

"You seven," he said in a gravelly tone, "Vackzilian has assigned us to Manicore. We are to leave at once."

One of the blood oaths plopped his drink down with a confused look on his face. "But we're in Manicore already," he argued.

"No, you fool," another blood oath, distinguished by a red bandana on his arm, huffed as he stood. "We're in Montipora, a coral mining town. Manicore is a mining city in the heart of the empire."

"Oh," the first blood oath muttered lamely.

The blood oath with the red bandana turned to Aloralex, his bloodshot eyes filled with disdain. "Did he say why we're going to Manicore?"

Intelus had little patience for the oaf's attitude, but saw no harm in answering him. "The miners have started a revolt," he answered. "Manicore is one of the few places in the empire with the resources Vackzilian needs. We've been ordered to squash the rebellion with minimal bloodshed and get them back to work."

"Minimal bloodshed?" the blood oath scoffed. "Forget it. You can go without me." With those words, he stormed off into the night.

An intense urge to seize the fool by the neck and suck the life out of him overwhelmed Intelus. Gritting his teeth, he

quelled the insatiable desire and turned a steely gaze upon the others, daring them to try the same foolishness.

***

Alfonso Vivyander Brockovich threw back his blanket and sat up.

Today was the day he was going to become an elemental. Well, not exactly, but sort of... whatever that meant.

"Hey, careful," the crackling fire on the nightstand complained. "You nearly snuffed me out."

"Oh, sorry," Alf answered sincerely as he glanced at Derrick, the fire guardian. Derrick had sacrificed himself to save them in their fight with the Fallen One, and as a result, he had been reduced to his current diminutive state.

Alf carefully pushed the remainder of the blanket aside and slid his feet onto the sandy-looking floor. Instead of soft grains, hard stone met his bare feet, and he frowned. The castle of Aurania sure is a strange place, Alf thought to himself as his eyes trailed over the room's walls: blue and yellow flames twisted and turned, fading to black as they reached the ceiling. The flames seemed real, yet, like the floor, they were merely hard, smooth stone, inlaid with colorful sediments.