Another excerpt

Ya know the drill.

Vyr burst through the door into the bright white corridor, heading toward his bedroom with long strides, leaving his two servants cowering in the polished marble hallway, afraid of approaching him; they had grown used to Vyr's moods enough to tell when he was in a foul mood. Vyr's aggressive, downright menacing fast pace, calculated and deliberate movement, his pupils shrunk and eyes sunk back under his low and angled brows, it all quickly betrayed his anger, the worser kind of it, one which Vyr consciously fueled and kept from extinguishing under time's flow.

His steps echoed the main mansion's hall, their rhythm underscored by the clanking of steel from his new armor. Though he'd received a full set, much like the guardsmen, Vyr only put on the breastplate, shoulder pieces and lower arm braces, as only these carried magical enhancements of note, and of course, he added a light blue cloak, signifying his elevated status. His sword, he had also replaced for a more powerful, longer bladed variation. A single, large emerald had been worked into the cross guard and a circle of tiny, intricate runes engraved around the gem, all done with magic, according to his own design to amplify his striking power and speed.
Yet, for all his new accessories, the figure himself appeared ancient, weary. His once youthful, androgynous face playing host to worry-etched lines, bags hanging from under his blue-green orbs, mouth absently switching between different frowns..

The soft glow of the crystal chandelier illuminated his golden hair, now tousled and wild, trailing him like seaweed would a tangled up sinking object in the water. His new breastplate and arm braces, adorned with runes of power engraved on the sides, symbolic of his new rank as a chief advisor, now felt like a suffocating weight, as if the title and considerable influence were reduced to just that: weight.

The high lord had given him residence within the main mansion and rendered the Dragon's Guard under his direct authority, as Vyr requested, though reasoning he was more familiar with them, Vyr only wanted the pleasure of having his former superior, the guard captain, under his thumb.

And still, it wasn't enough.

A hollow, chest tearing emotion writhed and slithered around his heart, none of these titles and promotions meant anything by comparison to his aspiration to be recognized and elevated by divinity. Though he'd settle for one of his consorts, Vyr hoped and prayed that Aesir, the supreme deity of wisdom and light would reward him for his relentless efforts and risks.

To be Aesir's Favored, someone the gods empowered beyond his or her own natural limits and capacity..

Then no one would dare challenge him again, no one could, not even the high lord himself.

Vyr's fine leather gloves crackled as his fists tightened, straining the material.

*
His bedroom, although luxurious by comparison to most lesser nobles’, still radiated an air of simplicity, of neatness. The shelves to his left lined the entire hallway side wall, save for a two paces wide section in the middle, which hosted a single piece of decoration, the only one he carried over from his previous estate, set on the creamy white wall, facing his large, silk blanketed bed. Where most, even the high lord, had dedicated space to images of divinity, the clan's epic history, and naturally, the insignia, Vyr's piece was an excerpt of the clan's less known heritage, depicting the hero figure that he himself aspired to be. Though as he had learnt recently, that would never come to pass..

Vyr often compared his own exploits to that of the last known epic hero blessed by Aesir. Even his tragic past seemed to match Aesir's Favored, both left without their parents at a young age, killed in some trifling power game.
But the hero depicted in the weathered image, he possessed something that Vyr was still lacking.

Though Vyr's thoughts circled about finding who wrote the death threat, who possessed such audacity to threaten his own sister… Sweat glimmered in his long blond hair, pacing up and down the strip of thick, red carpet, lost in thought.

Vyr had a servant put the carpet between his bed and the shelves, specifically so his steps wouldn't echo the hallway outside. The curtains behind his bed remained closed at all times, while the other set of windows, with a view of the gardens remained unobstructed, one of the wings open at all times, allowing the soothing sweet scents to flood in.

***

Vyr halted before the ancient tapestry as he once again failed to come up with specific suspects.

‘The lord will have my head if I can't apprehend these vermin in time…’

***
Trailing his recollection of the day’s events, of all the stuck up higher nobility figures he followed around the city, some of them to questionable locations and taverns.. Yet the most he could have done with all he had learnt was to arrest two people for trading their personal jewelry with the clan's insignia, for dubious magical artifacts and a third for his adultery. None of it worth his attention or effort.

Finally, his gaze trailing to the old tapestry, its vibrant hues dimmed by age, Vyr couldn't help but indulge his fantasies, his inspiration, even knowing it would invariably lead to renewed frustration and rage..

The legendary warrior, a figure of myth and power, Aesir's Favored, stood defiant against a horde of grotesque demons. His sword, a blur of silver, seemed to cleave through the air, poised and ready. Dozens of fallen demons littered the battlefield around his lone, tall form, a testament to his might and divinity's favor. Yet, his gaze fixed on the oncoming threat.

A pang of bitter envy shot through Vyr. The gods had so effortlessly bestowed the title of "Aesir's Favored" upon Elara's yet unborn child, a privilege Vyr had yearned for his entire life.. His ambitions and aspirations ruthlessly pulled from under him.

Vyr stepped back from the image, sitting on the blue silk blanketed bed, which he hadn't made use of the past week as his boyish face now worn and weary betrayed.

‘That's more than silly privilege… the high lord's title is trivial by comparison to that.’

Rage bubbling in his core, Vyr jolted to his feet again, his right hand resting on his new sword's hilt, immediately sparking a flow of magic power between him and the object, a warm electric sensation. The weapon he designed on his own to enhance his magic and fighting capabilities further, preparing himself for the day his exploits and tireless efforts were seen and rewarded by Aesir and his consorts… A day which would never come.

‘It's all because of that brat! I'd worked for this for centuries on end and all he has to do is be born.’

Vyr's recollection livened up the High Lord's contrived smile of pride as he revealed his own birth prophecy matching Elara's and hers being to birth this hero, a figure not seen since the clan's founding.



Vyr stalked to the window, his heavy boots echoing on the marble floor. The moon cast an ethereal glow upon the garden, transforming the familiar hedge and decorative tree lines into a ghostly vision, scenery from an obscure, partially forgotten nightmare. The scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air, a bittersweet perfume that mingled with the damp earth. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, his breath fogging the surface.

‘It's meaningless to eliminate the high lord now and I.. I could never raise a sword to Elara, but that cancer growing within her.. That I will purge..’

Vyr's heart skipped several beats, the heated and tense weight in his chest halted its twisting and churning. Eyes widened..
‘Have I really gone so low.. Contemplating the ruthless murder of my kin..’