The Chronicles of Onyx: Book 1

Chapter Fifteen

Pure, black eyes, like coal, watched from the shadows as three figures rode into the village. The commander of the Queen Demeter's forces, observed with a calculated intensity that seemed to pierce through the veil of normalcy. His soulless gaze narrowed as he recognized two of them—Onyx and Rok.

Sith's beady eyes remained locked on Onyx. She was the one he was focused on for now, the target. The orders were clear—find them, capture Onyx, eliminate any threats, and bring her to the Queen. However the Queen commanded that Onyx would be brought in safe in sound. And even threatened him that if he did not do so, she would find other uses of him. A wry smile tugged at his lips, for now he was focused on one thing, appeasing the Queen.

Sith's black eyes flicked to Rok, his thoughts calculating the potential danger he posed. And then there was a small tinge of guilt, he and Rok once fought together. Practically grew up like brothers. Rok was always there, loyal like a dog. Charming like a man. There were many that disliked Rok, for he was the Queen's favorite. And few even rumored that Rok was like a son to her. Perhaps he was. For what he had done, she should have ordered a gruesome death of the Half-breed. But instead she gave him a second chance. A second chance no other was ever given, even though he had committed the highest treason—he tried to kill her in her slumber.

Sith's hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon, left over rage and pain still lengored from that night. For the one he had once thought of as a brother, was now below a traitor. Yes, he had a choice, to choose between either his brotherly love for Rok, or his undying loyalty for the Queen. And like any other loyal guard—he chose the Queen, and that night while Rok held the dagger above the sleeping Queen's heart. Sith gathered four guards and arrested him.

Sith would have become first commander, if his heart didn't distract him. Regret had consumed him, and in a despite act to free Rok. He killed the very four Orcs that he had gathered to arrest Rok. Perhaps under all the scars and armor, Sith had a beating heart. But any love or affection for Rok went away when the Queen took all of his rights, and made him less than a slave. Sith vowed he would kill Rok himself, and retrieve back his glory and status—as commander.

But here he was now, first commander of all the forces. The one whom held the most power, aside from the Queen herself. With Rok before him—venerable. He could shoot him with an arrow if he truly wanted to end it all now. Rok would never see it coming. Nor would his overprotective mutt. But Sith had more honor than that, when Rok was to die, it would be by dying like a warrior in a battle. Sith and Rok would fight honorably, a fair fight between just the two of them. When the time came, Rok would die by his blade. That was a promise.

-ooooo-

A year had passed since Rok and Onyx had managed to slip through the grip of the Queen's control. In that span of time, they had become invisible from the prying eyes of the Orcish troops that patrolled major cities, towns, and villages.

"My Queen," Sith's voice was respectful and unwavering as he addressed Demeter, bowing before her with a display of utmost loyalty. "It would be wise for us to shift our troops to smaller, overlooked towns. These places are often left unguarded, and we can secure more ground while expanding our influence."

Demeter's eyes, sharp and calculating, regarded Sith from her elevated throne. She exuded an air of regality, her posture and demeanor unwavering. Her fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, a subtle sign of her contemplation.

"No," she declared, her voice carrying a mixture of authority and conviction. "You shall gather a troop of your best warriors and proceed to the Northern village. There are rumors of resistance stirring there, whispers of rebellion," she smiled slightly before continuing, "Onyx and Rok will want to rise and army, they be looking for those seeking my blood"

Sith's brow furrowed slightly, "As you command, my Queen," he replied with a dip of his head, his singular golden tusk gleamed in the fire light as he did so. 

His black eyes locked onto Demeter's, the weight of her expectations fell heavily upon him. In that moment, he understood that the path before him was one of bloodshed and power, a path he would walk without hesitation. If it meant his name would be forever remembered and strike fear in the hearts of even the strongest worries. Just as Demeter's did.

War—it had been lingering for quite some time, but now its presents was even stronger than before. And he relished in it.