Caje Auchard, A Fractured Soul

Rowan stood ready by his king’s side, still as a statue. His eyes scanned the throne room with vigilant zeal, as was his sworn duty. He held the title of Captain and close advisor of the Crown, a job he took seriously. Rowan was no perfect man by any margin, so he made sure his most trusted guards stalked within the shadows of the castle, his eyes and ears in even the most unreachable places. Others guarded all entryways to the throne room, ready to give their lives for their kingdom.

One of the King’s men rattled off the day’s issues and plans to come, as was usual. His monotonous tone conveyed how they all felt about the day’s proceedings, bored and tired as always. But they pushed on despite the ichor of boredom, a necessity within the palace to keep the kingdom in order. Though it was no adventure, Rowan still found excitement and pride in his duty, no matter how tiresome and stressful it became.

The large, ornate doors at the front of the throne room swung open, stopping the man’s words in his throat. Tall and slim, a man stepped through the large doorway, arrogance pouring from his every step. A slimy smirk spread across his face as he sauntered in, hands clasped behind his back. Without a word, Rowan’s men stopped the man and searched him for any weapons he may have concealed with practiced efficiency. Rowan’s second gave him a nod in confirmation that the man was cleared as they hastily returned to their posts.

The man had not taken his eyes off of the King all the while, only breaking eye contact with a slight bow. Despite the man’s unlikable exterior, he still bore a striking resemblance to the king, though his King’s face was much kinder, and stern.

Before the man could speak a word, the King held his hand up in opposition, stopping him mid breath.

“What is it you want, boy? I thought I had made myself clear that you were no longer welcome here.”

This must have been Prince Asbar, someone Rowan had only heard about once before. As the story goes, he was shipped off after some event that none would

ever speak about. Only a few years older than himself, he had left the kingdom shortly before Rowan clawed his way up the ranks, earning his title.

“I have… information you will want to hear, father. Just hear me out,” he said, the unbearable smirk still smeared across his face.

Asbar stepped forward and up the steps to the platform in which the King’s throne sat. Rowan hastily stepped in front of the King, stopping Asbar in his tracks.

“Step aside Rowan. This sniffling boy poses no threat,” said the King.

Rowan hesitated for only a second before stepping back into place. The Prince gave him a look that made him want to tear the pompous ass’ throat out, but he kept his face as neutral as possible.

Asbar bent to his father’s ear with a whisper. Rowan’s blood rushed, unable to hear the conversation. He showed no interest, as was his duty, but he still kept a steady eye on the prince. The King did not look happy in the slightest, but a slight surprise twinkled in his eyes.

“Enough. Fine, you may stay. I will summon you later, boy.” The king pointed to a guard by the door,” Escort him to his quarters and notify a servant of his arrival,” he commanded.

The Prince gave a nod to his father, Rowan one last cold stare, then spun on his heel to leave. His King must have felt Rowan’s mistrust emanate from him as he put a reassuring hand on his arm.

“He won’t be here long, I’ll make sure of that. Though he is my heir, so I will hear him out,” he said with a smile.

Rowan returned it with a nod, still untrusting of the Prince. Whatever was going on, he was sure it was nothing pleasant.

The next day, Rowan stepped into the air of the dewy morning with a yawn. With his arms extended, he stretched out his stiff limbs. The cold air was a comfort against his face. His sister, Sera, was walking back from an early morning stroll, carrying a basket of apples along with her. The Royal orchard was a short walk away from the cabin they shared.

Sera enjoyed early morning strolls to the orchard each day, bringing back a basket of the fresh delectables. She smiled as she approached Rowan, embracing him with a warm hug. The twin’s bond they shared was unbreakable, a life long lived with only each other to trust.

She handed him an apple from the basket and wished him a good day. He took a bite of the sweet fruit as he strolled down the stone path. To allow himself a leisurely pace, he woke up earlier than needed each morning. The beautiful sights of the castle grounds were a pleasure to behold each day. Even as the King’s right hand, serious and stern, he still enjoyed the small things that life had to offer.

Rowan rounded the corner to the entrance of the hall that held his office and his men’s quarters. Blocking the door stood the pompous Prince. The smirk was now replaced with a cold stare, no longer attempting to appear civil in the slightest.

“Ah, there you are Captain. I have, might you say… a proposition for you,” Asbar said, each word slithering out of his mouth.

“Whatever crooked deal you have, I want no part in. I serve your father, not you.”

With an insincere laugh, Asbar flipped a black coin in his hand. His eyes darted from Rowan back to the coin in contemplation, then returned the piece of metal to his pocket.

“What a shame boy. Deal or no, I will stand beside my father in ruling, and I trust you to stay out of my way, you welp. I’ll make sure you and that sister of yours will deeply regret crossing me. You are nothing,” Asbar spat out.

“You leave Sera out of this,” Rowan snarled, but Asbar shouldered past him, ignoring the Captain’s fury.

Rowan’s heart slammed against his chest, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. He took a deep breath, letting his anger flow out of him, escaping into the air as he had practiced so many times before. With purpose in his stride, he continued on to his duties, unwilling to let his encounter with the insufferable Prince get the best of him.

Hunched over a map of the kingdom, Rowan and King Orlin surveyed the current situation. No current threat was at their borders, but they were always prepared for any outside threat. Rowan tried his best to focus on the task at hand, but thoughts of the Prince threatening his sister clouded his mind. Orlin must have noticed, even behind Rowan’s practiced facade.

“Rowan, speak to me. What seems to bother you?” Orlin asked, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder.

“It is not my place to say sire,” he replied, no matter how much he wanted the Prince gone, he was still the King’s son.

“This is friend to friend Rowan. Brother to brother. Please, I am here.”

Rowan let out a sigh and looked into the King’s eyes,”The Prince threatened my sister and I. He didn’t give specifics, but nonetheless I want him gone.”

The King stared deep into Rowan’s eyes, hesitating only a moment. Then with a nod he said, “ Thank you Rowan. I will make sure that rat is dealt with. He may be my blood, but he is no son of mine.”

A thousand tons seemed to lift from his shoulders and he thanked his friend. This reminded him why Orlin was loved, and feared, so fiercely by his people, and why Rowan would gladly give his life for him.

As the day continued, Rowan tended to his duties, now content in the fact that

Orlin had listened, rather than execute him for the mere thought of kicking out the Prince. The twin moons now sat among the cloudy night sky. Rowan’s breath lingered in the air as he walked home. He loved the scene of the lit homes along the path in the inky black of the night.

Rowan pushed open the door to his home, glad to once again reunite with his sister and enjoy the evening in revelry with his twin. He stepped over the threshold into an unlit house, eerily quiet, which was far from normal. At this time Sera was usually practicing one of her assortment of instruments, weaving beautiful melodies into the breeze of the night.

A turn around the corner into the dining room revealed Sera bound and gagged, sitting at the dining table. Her eyes went wide as she saw him approach. Bloodied and bruised, she shook her head, trying to tell him something. Before he could move to help her, he felt a searing pain stab through his spine. Like a ragdoll he fell to the ground, slamming his face against the hardwood, unable to now feel his body. A muffled scream came from Sera’s mouth, tears streaming down her face.

“Are you deaf, or just stupid,” Rowan heard through the blood pounding in his head.

It was Asbar who stood above him with blood smeared across his hands. That creeping, unbearable smirk had returned to his face, but something had changed. In the Prince’s eyes was a spark of joy and satisfaction that danced in his pupils. Asbar gave a hard kick to Rowan’s wound, but he had no energy to scream, only letting out a muffled groan.

Asbar stepped over Rowan and threw Sera to the ground. She stared at Rowan with pleading eyes as blood began to flow from his mouth. He somehow reached out a shaking hand, but Asbar stomped with his full weight, snapping each bone in his hand

Without a word, Asbar began to take off his belt and did unspeakable things to Sera. Rowan willed his body to move, to kill the bastard who defiled his sister, but he couldn’t. His body would not comply with his pleas, nor would it allow him to close his eyes as Sera’s screams continued.

Tears streamed down Rowan’s face, the pain in his heart outweighing the physical pain that tore through his body. After what felt like an eternity, Asbar finally stopped, a wild snarl spread across his face as he ended in gruesome satisfaction. The Prince slid a dagger from his side, gripping the hilt in his pale hands. With a drawn out motion, he slit Sera’s throat, savoring every second of her agony. Blood spurted with each heartbeat, pooling around her corpse.

Sera was stuck staring at Rowan, her dead eyes piercing his soul. In that moment Rowan lost who he was. Rage plowed through his veins with every choked

breath. His heart was gone, replaced with hate and vengeance. That fire of rage burned through him as he drew his last breath, his lungs filled with his own blood. Darkness consumed him and he embraced it as he went to rejoin his sister once again.

His journey to death was stopped, the rage tearing through what was left of his soul. Those dead eyes stared at him, forever burned into his memory. Hate flowed through him as he felt a cold hand grip his chest. No words were spoken to him, but he felt complete understanding of what was to come.

Rowan’s soul was ripped out and only his rage and hate filled that void. Yet, there was something more. He felt something sinister within him, reanimating the corpse that lay on the ground. With open arms he let it consume him and he bent to its will.

There he lay on the ground of his home, the corpse of his sister strewn about in dried blood, insects inspecting their next meal. Rowan stood to his feet and without hesitation he burst through his front door into the light of day. Black veins bulged from his mangled arms as he ran to the throne room. There was no thought other than his burning fire as he broke through the ornate doors.

The Prince was speaking with his father who looked displeased. Asbar turned with horror wrought across his face. With supernatural speed Rowan grabbed the Prince, holding the coward in place. With the fury of the damned, Rowan took the Prince by the mouth. One hand clamped down on his jaw, the other hooked the top of his mouth.

Rowan savored Asbar’s screams as he began to rip his face in two. The jaw broke first with a satisfying snap, followed by the skin and muscle tearing apart. Rowan made him suffer before ending it with a yank. He held the top half in his left hand and let the corpse drop to the ground with the other.

“Brother come back to me,” he heard his sister beckon. Her face appeared in his vision with a loving smile, calling him to let go of his rage.

Rowan nodded and extended his hand towards her, but she was ripped away in an instant. The cold hand gripped him once again, taking Sera with it. His rage did not fade, but it grew with the power of a thousand suns. With feral eyes he scanned the room. A hunger for blood grew within him. Power surged through him as he siphoned the life from the King and the men around him. A twisted smile spread across his face as he drank in every drop of their life.

Withered carcasses with hollow eyes now dropped where his friends once stood. With purpose he strode to the throne which sat the King’s husk, ripping the crown from his head. Rowan threw the corpse from the throne, taking its place. He studied the crown in his hands. It began to warp and malform, turning into a perverted version of what it once was. Blood seemed to flow from the crown, black

as obsidian and jagged as a broken blade. He placed it upon his head and felt that cold presence grow. Rowan lost all control as his eyes glowed a deep crimson red.

“Oh how good it is to be back,” his mouth moved, but a new voice erupted from it.

With raised arms it began to summon unspeakable horrors within the large throne room. The dead and twisted now knelt before him, his own subjects who bent to his every will. With the last drop of Rowan gone, a horror that made even the Devil tremble now took his place.

“Go, my children, and feast. Lay waste. We have long awaited and your loyalty will now be rewarded,” it said with a cackle.

The beasts and demons chanted his name again and again in a tongue long forgotten. With a roar they charged from the room, spreading upon the world like a plague. It smiled and savoured every moment of suffering that now occured at the hands of his children.

The fun was only just beginning.