Aya, The Sun Above The Moon

CHAPTER I.

AYA, THE SUN

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

And miles of ash disbursed upon a scorched, blood stained earth.

There weren’t always infinite waves of terror emanating along the countryside, serving as a reminder to prosperous villages that hell was not far. It was not below. It is here, above us.

The beasts once slept.

We once had peace.

Now, the streets of the nation’s capital, Promathia City, was but a far cry of its bustling prosperity just years before. The alleyways that once connected all the colorful markets, became home to decrepit bodies, lost under the unfortunate hand of fate. The many shops that filled the city's cobblestone streets had dwindled to few necessities and the occasional traveling merchant unafraid of the thieving risks the refugees brought with them. Memories of hellfire and agony lay behind those blank expressions begging the blissfully unaware aristocrats too busy to notice the wrath of what remained beyond the capitol.

Today, however, it is possible that many were given a shimmer of hope beyond the dark present. There was a Call to Arms, through invitation only, occurring in the most well respected building in the nation, the Promathia Cathedral. The people watched as several of the most famous knights of the nation entered the sectioned off street before them in the noblest of carriages. All gathering for the first time in a century. All to discuss one thing above others, the sole united front against impending battle, as well as the cause of these beasts.

As crowds of onlookers gathered behind a set line of pine placed along the cobblestone side street to prevent interference for the important meeting, a small boy leapt beyond the pine cautions. His shimmering brown hair shifted underneath the wind as he ran towards the Cathedral before halting himself as horses yielded and carriages swirled around him, tears swelling in his eyes from the angered shouts behind him. It was as if the aura of the crowded, colorful streets of this city were foreign to him. His shoes were worn to the soles and his torn bear skin shirt expressed a story of grim exposition. The bland demeanor of this frail body seemed opposed to the small jeweled necklace the boy squeezed tightly in hand. He hadn’t uttered a word in the days he had waited for someone, anyone to offer him a direction, a purpose.

“Watch yourself!” A guard shouted to the right of the boy. He inched closer, careful to slip between the carriages moving throughout the street. His gray uniform fit tight to his oversized body, uncomfortably stretching with each step toward the boy.

“You stand in the way of the knights, remove yourself or you will be moved.” The guard proclaimed loudly, enriched by the cheer of the crowd along the street. He proudly placed his hand on his police issued baton stick strapped to his waist, nodding to the boy to move along.

The boy was still. He continued to hold his head as low as he could; the blank expression within his face showed no sign of response or acceptance as the guard as if completely unaware of the warning guard. Now, somewhat terrified and fuming at his unsuccessful attempt to do his job, the guard unstrapped his baton, unsure whether to use it or request a sorcerer.

“Hold.”

The tremulous voice of a man appearing behind the guard with ogre-like stature draped in amazingly pitch black armor transfigured the mysterious scene. The man had no carriage nor company, only a small tarp bag surely filled with items as unpleasant as his appearance. The powerful nature about him seemed knightly, although nothing compared to the countless honored knights that had entered the tall structure, overjoyed to hold their nose high in the shiniest pearl crafted armor they had surely just received. He did not seem the man to impede on such a simple assault, however, in brushing past the somewhat comedic guard, it was as if something spoke to him refraining him from entering the Knights headquarters, a whisper in the wind calling his soul to protect the frail boy.

“What do you seek beyond this pitiful commotion?” The man asked the boy in a haunting, raspy tone, well losing its empathy. His dark nordic beard swayed along a chiseled face properly held above his unjustifiably well done suit of armor.

“The knights.” The boy stutters in response, guiltily retreating his eyes to the cobblestone pavement beneath him.

“And? You have found them. Why are you here?”

“My father.” The boy's sunken eyes lay still toward the earth.

“Here?” The man asked, nodding to the entrance of the knights headquarters, half wondering which of his irritable brothers left the sorry stated boy outside.

“Dead.” The boy answered solemnly, clenching his fists so tightly the color of his scarred knuckles shifted to white.

“Mother?” The man questioned further, his voice slowly finding its sincerity.

The boy did not respond, only shook his bruised chin.

“Beasts?” The man questioned, almost certainly not needing an answer to the cause for the boy’s disheartenment. Still, he asked.

The boy slowly nodded his head in a cold unforgiving manner.

“Which.”

“Dragon.” The boy whispered the word as confidently as he could, lifting his now tear-filled, ocean blue eyes to finally match the gaze of the man. He then raised his frail hand to reveal the only valuable thing he possessed, his small ruby jeweled necklace. The same necklace the man before him wore along his scarred neck. The boy’s hand shook under its magnificent weight.

“I want to learn. I want to fight.” He continued, as he grasped the shimmering gold, hand-crafted necklace, an item the man well knew was only given to the truest of commanding knights within the vast Promathia kingdom. The man’s eyes met it and widened as he read along its usual impressively made golden moon pendant. The words read: Commander WillHeilm Knights of the Moon.

“I cannot offer much, still, for a son of my fellow commander, I can offer a purpose. Your name?”

The boy paused, visibly unused to hearing his father, the man that raised and loved him, who now lie beneath the ashes of a home he died to protect, had led such an amazing force. He once again matched the man's intense stare, this with his own slowly returning gentle, determined ocean eyes.

“Aya. Aya Heilm”

The man nodded and began his way to the tall brown, cedar-wood doors detailing the entrance to Promathia’s Cathedral. The Knights of the Moon's Call to Arms was beginning and the crowd shouted in both anger and praise as the boy followed.