Garden Of The Abyss

The paramount of Mastorn, inhabiting the core of the capital itself, the abode of the king himself--the Almighty Keep.

Stepping through the gilded hall, passing by guards decorated in illustrious armor of platinum and azure, the man of a slim build ran his fingers through his combed-over, jet-black hair before stopping in front of the massive, divine doors.

"Halt."

Protecting said door, two colossal knights standing head and shoulders above the lanky man blocked his path with their hulking bodies clad in heavy armor.

"How many times have we been through this? You know who I am; let me pass."

The man hardly fit the bill of someone who leisurely strolled through such a place of high-power, fit in a black suit with a scarlet cape hanging from his shoulders. He stood out like a sore thumb, his somber attire standing in contrast to the radiant holiness of the keep.

"No chances will be taken; it is our duty to protect the king."

The leftmost knight spoke through the obscuring visor of his helmet, stepping closer to the darkly-dressed, magenta-eyed man, standing over him.

"If I recall, it's the King's Blades that protect him. It seems to me your duty is to stand in front of this door."

"Silence, Argonaut."

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? My apologies, I meant no offense."

The man spoke with a sly smile that clearly enjoyed provoking the towering knight, patting his hand clad in a silky, white glove against the iron breastplate of the knight.

"Remove your hand before I remove it from your body."

"Oh? I'd like to see you try."

Brought face-to-face, the two men of vastly different builds emitted a hostile aura before a hand met the slim man's shoulder, breaking the tension within an instant.

"That's enough, Roland."

Hearing his name called by the voice familiar to him, the man dressed in black eased himself, turning to face the figure standing behind him.

It was a complete contrast to the man of magenta eyes; standing slightly taller than him with somewhat shaggy, golden locks with fringes that stopped just shy of his own livid, gentle eyes that halted any urge to fight. Unlike the more business-like attire Roland wore, the man took on a more noble approach himself, wearing a pearlescent-white frock coat with breeches to match, keeping a sheathed sword with gilded-steel decorating its hilt.

"--Sir Charlemagne!"

Both of the towering knights were exasperated at the sight of the man who exuded an air of nobility around him.

"None of that," Charlemagne laughed gently, "Forgive my companion here, he is lacking in proper etiquette."

"This Argonaut is with you?"

"That's right; a dear comrade, in fact."

Silence fell upon the guardians of the heavyset doors after clearly falling short of a good impression on the man of power.

"Is there a problem?"

Charlemagne asked the two of them with his calm smile still present, invoking an almost flustered reaction from the two guardians as they quickly stepped to the side, each pressing their gauntlets against the dense gates before parting them to reveal the room they guarded.

"Apologies, Sir Charlemagne. Right this way."

The golden-haired man gave the two guards a simple nod before strolling inside the room awaiting with Roland following close behind him.

Stepping into the exuberant, far-stretching throne room, held high by marble pillars carved into the form of lions, knights, and dragons--the air within the royal chamber was different from any other. It was a singular breath away from divinity, the history of the kingdom that represented the pinnacle of humanity flowed through the radiant winds, all of which found its core at the throne that sat at the paramount of this ever-present regality.

It was formed of a steel that could be nothing sort of mystical; translucent and opalescent, the subtlest rays of light shining through it like a kaleidoscope. Filling this tall, imposing seat of kings was a figure engrossed in the documents he held.

The quantity of stationed knights had lowered within this hall of grace, but it was a far cry to say it was any less protected--undoubtedly, the throne room was protected by the most capable hands in the entire kingdom. As Charlemagne strolled through this lavish chamber, his snow-white boots pelting against the pristine floor as his cape fluttered behind him, he felt the watchful eyes of the King's Blades--the direct guardians of the ruler himself, watch him carefully.

--Many within the kingdom consider the King's Blades to merely be glorified watchmen; decorated in their opalescent armor, etched to represent the scales of the great dragon--but that is only ignorance. They are both the sword and shield of the King, the most talented and powerful knights throughout the kingdom.

The King has no shortage of enemies; yet none have ever come close to relieving him of his rule.

Charlemagne stopped before the steps that led to the throne itself, kneeling himself down to one knee, looking back at Roland--giving him a brief, scalding look to usher the man to kneel as well.

"My liege."

Asking for the attention of the silver-haired king, Charlemagne kept his head lowered as the ruler of Mastorn lowered the paper from his eyes, looking up with the pristine emeralds that occupied his eye sockets.

"Raise your head, Charlemagne, I will not have one of divine blood prostrate themselves before me."

"...My divine ancestry gives me no right to ignore such formalities, my king. I left behind such blood when I aided Mastorn against those fiends."

In response to the King's quiet, calm words, Charlemagne politely protested them while keeping his hand pressed against the cold, marble floor.

"Fiends or not; the gods are of your blood. I will not admonish you for such heritage when you've more than proved your loyalties to humanity, Charlemagne. Now stand."

"Yes, my king."

Heeding the King's words, Charlemagne rose from his knelt position along with Roland, looking upon the crown-wearing ruler.

"Now, what do I owe the honor of this visit to?"

With his elbow propped up against the arm of the exuberant throne, the King rested his chin against his knuckles as his eyes rested on the two visitors.

"Is it so hard to believe I am merely checking on my King?"

Charlemagne gave the taut ruler a light-hearted chuckle, the watchful king not reciprocating the same joyful emission.

"...To tell you the truth, some strange, awful rumors have met my ears of late."

The frivolous tone in the blonde noble's voice quickly dissipated, dropping to a serious low as his words caught the undivided attention of the gilded ruler.

"And what are these "rumors" you've heard about, Charlemagne?"

"I suppose I'll start with the foremost significant piece I've heard. Roland, give it to me."

Charlemagne extended his hand without looking back towards his companion, waiting as the black-haired argonaut reached under his blazer, retrieving an obsidian cube and carefully placing it atop the man's gloved palm.

Holding the enigmatic object, Charlemagne raised it into the air to give the curious king a better look at the dark cube.

"And what is that?"

"You'll have to swear to me you won't reprimand me if I tell you."

"...Quite the headstrong move, demanding a king to swear to you...Interesting. I swear it, Charlemagne--the "Divine Hand" of Mastorn."

A grin was brought upon the king's previous stoic expression as his interest was clearly piqued by the existence of this cube.

"After I heard of the assault on the Althaus estate, I had Roland do a bit of a search himself. This was found within the passed lord's quarters."

"Nonsense. Rouge swept that manor clean."

"Not quite; you see, Roland found this object by mere luck. It was hidden away by means of some very crafty usage of light magic, refracting the light to obscure the existence of this cube. Now...I wonder why Althaus tried so hard to hide such a thing?"

Holding the cube up between his index finger and thumb, Charlemagne held a triumphant, pleased smile as he held the object to the rays of light that dipped through the stained, multi-colored glass. The king's eyes widened as he witnessed an odd, seemingly insignificant phenomena--before the light could reach the cube, it seemed to halt just shy of its form.

"What is this object? You know, don't you? Tell me."

"...I have an idea."

Responding slyly to the king, Charlemagne grasped the cube within his fist, meeting eye to eye with the verdant gaze of the hasty ruler.

"Tell me."

"I believe it is one of the keys to that, Held. The sensation from it; unmistakeable, isn't it? There is no doubt in my mind, this is something straight out of Belmon."

At the mention of that final name, King Held gripped the arms of his throne with an expression that flushed over with a mix of emotions, "Why would Stefan Althaus possess such an object?"

"Simple. He was a curious man, an eccentric, no doubt. A collector of artifacts--but this? He wants to keep it from falling into the wrong hands."

"...Turn it over at once. That is an order--an order from your king, Charlemagne."

Something about the cube drew forth an overwhelming avarice from the king, who extended his hand in want of the obsidian object.

"I will have no problem doing so, as long as it is a fair exchange."

Charlemagne held a sly smile as he ran his fingers through his golden locks, flipping the cube over his hand before catching it swiftly as if teasing the king with it.

"...What do you want?"

"It's simple really; I'd like to be officially appointed a knight."

"That's all…?"

"That's it."

The request perplexed the king for a moment as he stroked his silver beard between his ring-bearing fingers for a moment before slowly nodding his head.

"We will arrange for this next--"

"I'd like it now."

Charlemagne insisted, interrupting the king without any hesitance to halt his tone. Even Roland felt a cold breeze run up his spine from the brazzen of his companion.

"I don't understand why you'd want such a thing but...It's done," King Held turned to face the exuberantly armored knight standing guard beside him, "Leeroy, give me your blade."

Nodding in compliance, the King's Blade unsheathed his intricately-designed longsword, kneeling down to present it to the king who slowly stood himself from his precious throne.

Looking around, even though Roland couldn't see their eyes behind their decorated helmets, he could feel their gazes leave a still air in the room--likely out of spite of such an uncustomary knighting ceremony.

King Held wore a set of silver and azure robes that reached down to his ankles, trailing behind him as he began to slowly take his steps down the flat stairs. Whether it was for further protection or decoration, the ruler wore a half-set of cobalt armor, engraved with gold over his breastplate.

Each step echoed throughout the silent, vast marble room, commanding all attention on the hastily-formed ceremony.

"Kneel."

The king commanded softly; Charlemagne didn't hesitate to drop himself onto one knee before lowering his head.

"Of strife, loyalty, and strength; the stars watch over three with their watchful gazes, the world shares your breath, and the people, your dreams. Do you, Charlemagne, take on these aspirations, etching them both into your blade, body, and soul?"

Beseeching the ceremonial words onto the divinely-dressed, knelt man, King Held pointed the blade towards the sky, facing the stained glass that occupied the ceiling; staring back down upon them with its nebulous display.

"I do; from now until the day I draw my last breath, my blade, body, and soul will belong to Mastorn."

Following the soft, resolved words from the man of divine blood, the king slowly brought the blade down, placing it against the lavish fabric of Charlemagne's coat.

"The next time you stand, your past sins will be forgotten, failures of old will be lost to this honor, you will rise to your own two feet as a new man; blood of iron, eyes of stars, and the will of mountains--that is a knight of Mastorn. Rise, Sir Charlemagne."

Watching this, Roland knew well just how Charlemagne felt within--it was an aspiration of his since the day they met, the boy who swung a wooden sword until his arms went numb, his fingers calloused and blistered--yet he never stopped.

"That's the difference between him and humans or gods alike. Some see him as a conceited god, some see him as a man who clings to his bloodline as his only claim to fame--however, Charlemagne falls separate to those two concepts. He has no ego; I've watched him prostrate himself to a ragged-cutthroat just to learn a few tricks of the blade from him. The sheer will he possesses is infallible; living all of these years without once his dreams being dulled. In that regard, I don't hold a candle to him. This was his true calling, I believe he doesn't see himself as a man or god, but a knight of Mastorn itself--the pinnacle of good within this unjust country. I will follow him until his dreams are seen to completion."

"How do you feel, Sir Knight?"

Leaving the premises of the heavily-guarded keep, meeting once again with the brisk, welcoming sunlight that pierced the azure sea above, Roland asked teasingly to his newly knighted companion with a nudge of his elbow.

"I feel like I've finally been born."

Charlemagne couldn't hide his wide, trembling smile as he looked down at his own two hands, clenching them shut before taking in a whiff of the fresh air that tugged at his cape.

"Aren't we kind of rivals now?"

"What do you mean?"

Looking towards his darkly-dressed comrade who stuck out like a sore thumb in the daylight, the new knight responded to his question with his own."

"You know, argonauts and knights are pretty much cats and dogs."

"Ah, well...I'm not trying to earn Held's favor like the others."

"Same here, but the others don't know that. If anything, I think our special positions will earn a bit of hostility from both knights and argonauts alike."

Roland commented as he and his companion began to traverse the mountainous steps that separated the keep from the capital.

Neighboring each side of the lengthy staircase were perfectly trimmed hedges, some of which took the shape of knights, some of beasts. It was clear as day that Charlemagne carried himself as if he were as light as a feather; bubbling with excitement of his new position.

"Are you sure about this though?"

It was a question spoken randomly from Roland, who tucked his hands into the pockets of his wrinkle-free, jet-black pants as he placed one foot after another on each step.

"Giving the cube to the king?"

"Mm."

Roland nodded his head, glancing over at his elated companion who almost seemed to be tap-dancing as he traversed the stairs.

"Ah...It is a bit worrisome, isn't it? I knew it was something he wanted, but the avarice in his eyes was truly unexpected. Though, I am now a knight of Mastorn! My heart and blade are for the king!"

Almost jokingly, Charlemagne placed his fist over his chest, proclaiming this to the city as his voice dissipated from the sheer distance between himself and the ground floor.

"So what if he uses it to harm those within the kingdom?"

The question that came from Roland left no room for smiles or laughs, clearly fishing for an actual answer from his friend.

"Mm...As a knight, my loyalties are to the king, no doubt. However...An argonaut possesses no such oaths."

"...Leaving the dirty work to me if the time comes, eh?"

"That's always how it's been, hasn't it?"

Charlemagne gave Roland a gleeful chuckle before slapping the somber man on the shoulder, hastening his step as the argonaut matched his pace.

"It's a vast, impatient world out there; it won't wait for us to hoddle about."

"You think the world cares about us? We're the ones forgotten by the world, Charles."

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