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True History
In the year 1822, all magic was wiped from having ever existed. History lost the years when powerful spell casters, or Praecantors, as they were called, ruled the earth, sky, and sea. The Praecantors were at their peak in the time of ancient Greece, when Persia still ruled the area...
Chapter One,
The Prince of Macedonia.
A middle aged man sat at a table, a small stack of handwritten papers in front of him, at the other end of the table, there was a young boy who’d been taken prisoner in the attack on Greece, and been escorted back to Persia as a slave. Yet, his melting the chains and burning one of the wardens with green fire had oddly saved his fate, as his skill with Praecantry, had deemed him to be trained as one of the great Persian Lion Soldiers, an elite group of warriors who took down their foes with both spell and spear. Now, the boy sat in a plain room, wooden floors, simple stone walls, and one tapestry depicting the king on the far side, behind the middle aged man. A long and oppressive silence filled the small room, like someone pressing down on your shoulders.
After a time, the middle aged man looked up at the boy "What's your name, boy?" he asked, his voice a strange break in the silence. The child glanced up at the man, the boy spoke didn’t speak Persian, and did not understand the middle aged man, so he simply tilted his head, unsure of the question. The middle aged man sighed loudly, then leaned back in his chair. "Boy, what name?" he said in broken Greek. The young boy answered, "Phillip. And I'm not Greek, I am the prince of Macedonia, you'll release me at once," he said with a royal authority in his voice. The middle aged man just laughed before continuing in Greek, "Now you Persian, not the Persia prince," Phillip, the young prince furrowed his brows together, looking very angry, and “I. AM. ROYALTY," he said slowly, his voice dripping with venom. The man struck him across the face with the back of his hand, "You Persian now, Praecantor you, go to great school, become Lion Soldier," he said, then called to the guards outside the room to take the Macedonian prince away. Two guards, one a shorter, pudgy fellow, with a fat nose and sword at his waist, and the other a taller, more muscular man, holding a spear in one hand, entered the plain room. The two men grabbed Phillip under the arms, and dragged him out of the room. The young prince didn't struggle. He'd been taught how to act in a hostage situation, and he could always make his escape later. Once they were outside, the two men let him go, dropping him cruelly to the ground, laughing and taunting him in Persian. The shorter guard shoved him forward, before the taller one grabbed him by his wrist and yanked him along, eventually tossing him into the back of a horse-drawn cart. Phillip hit the inside of the cart with a grunt. The pudgy guard then tied his wrists together before closing the back of the cart with a thump. Then, the two guards got in the front of the cart, flicked the reigns, and set the cart going. As the cart bumped up and down with an unsteady rhythm, Phillip watched buildings pass by, some with signs, all written in Persian, of course. He looked down at the knot that bound his hands. It kept his hands just barely too far apart to touch them together, but he couldn't pull them apart at all either; it was a knot designed to keep him from using Praecantry, smart. He bit at the knot, trying to pick apart the knot with his teeth. After a solid half hour of biting and pulling, the cart came to a sudden stop. The two men came back around to the back of the cart, the short pudgy man opened the back, and the taller one sliced apart the knot with a small knife while saying something in Persian and pointing at a giant dome-roofed building before grabbing his shoulder and shoving him out. The Macedonian prince hit the ground, his face splashing into the mud. There was a man with a short white beard in a red toga standing in front of the two of them, and he carried an air of authority. He yelled something in Persian at the taller man, who immediately helped Phillip up to his feet, before scurrying away back to the cart. The shorter fellow had a short discussion with the robed man, before getting into the cart and leaving.
The robed man turned to Phillip, said something in Persian, then seeing he didn't understand, then he spoke in Greek, "Where are you from?" he asked, Phillip's eyes widened, surprised at the robed man's skills in language to speak Greek so well, "Macedonia," Phillip answered, "I'm Phillip, son of the Macedonian king." The robed man bowed respectfully, the first time anyone in Persia had treated Phillip befitting his rank, "It is my honor, your greatness, I am Ecrates, I teach here at the Maha Dasta, an Academy for Praecantry," Ecrates spoke respectfully, like he was talking to a prince; he also spoke in Macedonian. However, while he spoke kindly, Phillip could tell, quite easily, that the man held no respect for his power, the way Phillip spoke to a lesser noble. The Macedonian prince was running out of patience for this treatment, he rubbed his hands together, causing green sparks to shoot off between his fingers, until they filled with the green flame, Greek fire, a dangerous type of fire Praecantry, "You're a powerful person here, get me home," he said with a regal authority. Ecrates raised an eyebrow, as if mildly surprised, "Hmm...I was expecting Macedonian Beast Praecantry, interesting," he said, like he was taking a note. Phillip growled, "Now," he stated. Ecrates let out a deep breath, small flecks of frost flying from his mouth, before changing into water and putting out Phillips flames like rain. The older man's eyes sparkled with superiority, "I can't let you go home, though after your training...well, then it's not up to me anymore," he said with a knowing smile. Phillip had never seen something like that, as far as he knew, nobody had ever doused Greek fire so easily..."How did you do that?!" Phillip demanded, to which Ecrates responded with a wry grin, "Why don't you come in and learn?" He asked, gesturing to the massive building behind him. Phillip, fully understanding the rhetorical nature of the older man's question, grudgingly marched toward the massive, dome-roofed building. The path was nice, made of lightly packed gravel that crunched pleasantly under the young prince's feet. It was also lined with small flowers, and two large trees grew near the entrance. Right as Phillip reached for the door, Ecrates stopped him, "Listen your majesty, with all due respect, you are filthy. There are six pools that go around the edge of the building, go clean up in one of them," he said, gesturing around the side. Phillip nodded, he could still feel some of the mud on his face from when the guard had shoved him over. The gravel path branched off at the doors, before circling around the building, following it around the left side, he kneeled down at the edge of one of the pools the older man had spoken of; looking in at his reflection he noticed just how long his hair had gotten in his time as a captive of Persia. His hair was normally short, and the color of freshly baked bread: a wonderful golden-brownish color. Now, it was a long mess of thick, dark, muddy hair, like a horse’s mane. The Prince of Macedonia flipped his hair over his shoulders and washed it thoroughly, returning it to its normal color. Next he took a look at his face, his golden tan skin was smudged with thick blackish-brown mud. After scrubbing away at that, he took the first real notice of how different he looked than the way he was used to. The simple prisoner's garb differed drastically from the long, flowing robes he'd worn for most of his life, and the soft skin of his hands was covered in small scratches. Looking back into the pool, he noticed his eyes for the first time. Sure, he knew what color they were, and where they were located on his face, but he'd never really noticed them. They weren't just blue, like he'd thought of them. They looked like the sea, frozen in the middle of a storm: they were a lighter blue at the center, near his pupil, but got progressively darker toward the edges. Phillip snapped back to the present at the sound of feat crunching the gravel behind him, "I thought you'd ran off, took you so long," the voice of the Ecrates said from behind him, "By the way, we're going to have to teach you Persian, if you're ever going to be able to get out of here," he said the last part offhandedly, like it was something he said constantly. Phillip stood up, took a deep breath, and said, "If I'm going to master Praecantry, and learn to speak a third language, I may as well learn everything else I can be taught here," he said seriously. If he was stuck here, he was going to make the best of it.
About a day went by, Ecrates had told Phillip to go and get a feel for the building, so far, he'd discovered where the bathrooms were, the dorms were in a separate building, but he'd located those earlier, and he knew where most of the classrooms were, and had heard that there was a library; while he had yet to find it, Phillip was searching. He liked books, and the library was said to be the biggest in Persia. How a library like that could hide, Phillip did not know. The other students wouldn't show up for a few more days, so Phillip had some time to get used to things, and to learn as much Persian as he could from Ecrates. Eventually, Phillip found a set of double doors he had yet to open, placed his hands on the round brass door handles, and then pushed them open. On the other side, was a large, brightly lit room, filled to the brim with scrolls. Phillip was awestruck, the shelves seemed to go forever, and each one was filled to the brim with scrolls and massive scripts of paper that had been bound with string. The prince of Macedonia entered and slowly closed the door behind him, glancing up at the massive shelves. This place was huge! The bright light didn't seem to come to from anywhere Phillip could see, like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. After snapping out of his stupor, Phillip took another step into the massive library, determined to find the source of the light, there were no flames, no candles, and no lamps that the prince could see. After looking around, he figured out the secret of the room. The floors, made of black and white marble, where covered in small flecks of gold which glowed somewhat, together making up the light of the room. The ceiling glowed due to similar flecks all over it. After figuring it out, Phillip pulled a scroll off the shelf and sat down at the foot of one of the shelves. He opened the scroll, and scanned the text, it was in Persian. Thankfully, Ecrates had done a good job teaching him, and had figured out how to read and write Persian text. It was a document on the different kinds of Praecantry, which Phillip was incredibly interested in. He glanced down through the different headings, each of which was about a different kind of Praecantry, and different functions of it. Phillip, at the moment anyway, was only looking for one thing: Fire Praecantry. That was what currently interested him, and he would master it before anything else. Sure, he could do the Beast Praecantry that his people created, but it was nothing like fire. After skimming down for a short ways, he came across a section clearly labeled "FIRE PRAECANTRY" in large, flowing Persian script, there was more under that, "One of the most offensively devastating forms of Praecantry, Fire Praecantry is commonly thought of as a devastating art of summoning flames used solely to burn away ones enemies. However, this fails to do it justice. A flame Praecantor, assuming he knows what he or she is doing, can use the powerful flames for much more than mindless destruction, uses include burning wounds closed, using the heat to kill disease, and forging new structures out of molten metal or rock. However, in order to properly control the great flames created, a Praecantor who wishes to master this godly art must possess great willpower to keep the flames from simply burning all they touch. At the will of the user, assuming the will is strong enough, the flames will burn, melt, heal, or avoid whatever or whomever the user wishes." This passage taught Phillip something he was unaware of, while he knew he could make his flames take on whatever shape he wished, he was unaware of the full extent this could be taken, the passage went on to explain ways to change color, cease producing smoke, and explain all of amazing things that it specified.
"You know, you're supposed to ask before taking my books," said a scratchy voice. Phillip bolted upright, locating the source of the voice. Standing in front of him, was the single oldest creature the young prince of Macedonia had ever seen, he was like a skeleton wrapped in a bag of flesh, and he walked hunched over a simple wooden cane. Two piercing green eyes shone out from under a strange, wide brimmed hat. The man was also wearing a long flowing blue robe, "I'm sorry sir, I've only been here a day. I'm unaware of the way things work here," he said. The old man looked at Phillip from under his hat, "I can tell. Where are you from boy?" he asked. Placing the scroll carefully back on the shelf Phillip spoke, "I am Phillip, prince of Macedonia, to where I'll return once I've learned everything here," Phillip said confidently. The older man sighed, "Two guards escorted you here, correct? In a simple caravan, while you were bound at the wrists?" he asked. Phillip raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, how did you know?" the prince asked, to which the small old man replied, "Because I'm from even further away than you are, and I’ve spent a great many years trying to leave Persia, now look at me," he spoke with a great sadness behind his voice. Phillip shook his head, undaunted. He placed his hand on the old man's shoulder, "What is your name, I'll get us out of here together," he stated, determination filling his voice. The old man shook his head again, "Most call me Kraen, and you'll never escape the Persians, their empire goes further than the winds, boy. But, I suppose there's nothing an old man like me has to lose... so learn everything, and then let's give that a shot, hmm?" he said with a light chuckle at the end, while he may have laughed, there was no humor in it. "Regardless, your Persian is rusty, young prince, you should practice it. The other students arrive tomorrow." Kraen said, walking slowly to an old wooden desk in the opposite end of the room, "Pleasure meeting you, I've always wondered what royalty were like," he said, gesturing toward the door as he walked away, "And the library isn't open to students without a teacher's permission," he said. Phillip took his leave, hoping that what Kraen had said, about there being no escape, was just the ramblings of an old man. Regardless, he needed two things, more practice with his Persian and sleep. Lots of sleep.
It was early the next morning when Phillip awoke, lying on his back as he gazed up at the ceiling from his bed. It was different from what Phillip was used to, and he'd barely slept a wink on this bed. Years of a pampered palace lifestyle had gotten him used to extravagantly comfortable beds, and he never once remembered being cold at night. Last night, he'd shivered and been uncomfortable, he'd tossed and he'd turned, and had greatly missed his pampered palace life. Phillip just wanted to go home, and return to his life as a prince, where servants catered to his every wish and demand. Phillip’s plans were different now, he needed to get out of here, and soon. The young prince strode to his window, watching as a large number of carts pulled up to the doors of the massive domed building that was the Maha Dasta. Most of them were children, none of them looked like they had seen more than 20 winters. The gentle curve of the building cut him off from seeing the door, or whoever was greeting the oncoming crowd of students; however, he could see the students as they left the caravan of mule-drawn wagons. Unlike Phillip’s arrival, these students and students to be were perfectly willing to head off, and stepped down from the wagon with ease, some even receiving help from the guards when they got down. Phillip had been thrown face first into the mud, and these commoners were practically being carried down from the wagon! Phillip was outraged, he was a prince, they should be honored to have him here, yet it was commoners who got treated well. Regardless, Phillip would have to stomach this indecency if he was ever to leave here. His exploration yesterday had shown him it would be no easy task, and it would be harder now than it would have been before. Yesterday, Ecrates was the only person standing between him and his return to Macedonia. Now, there was also a small army of guards, and they looked like good ones. The guards wore full armor, and wielded long spears or large heavy clubs. Right now, most of the guards supervised the crowd, but after all the students had settled in, they’d likely be patrolling the grounds for would be escapees like himself. Escaping from the Maha Dasta would not be something he could do on his own. Phillip sat down at the base of the window. How did I get myself into this mess? The young prince thought dejectedly. It was an interesting story, actually…
Phillip had been sent as a diplomat to the city of Thrace, he was supposed to negotiate his nation’s help in the Greek-Persia war, and his father had promised to aid Greek troops. The deal went something like this, Phillip’s father would aid the Greeks in the Peloponnesian war and his son would teach Macedonian Beast Praecantry to the Thracian nobles, who would teach Phillip Greek Fire Praecantry, and grant his father one favor to be named later. Phillip shook hands with the Thracian King, and over the course of a day, the two taught each other the Praecantry of their respective nations. The sun was just barely reaching over the horizon when Phillip was awoken by one of his guards, “Your majesty, we must go!” he said urgently, panic gleaming in his eyes. The young prince stood up groggily, unsure as to what was happening. Before Phillip could ask however, there was a scream of pain from the courtyard. Persians were here! The Thracian and Persian forces clashed, and the sound of metal clashing against metal pressed in on the Macedonian prince from all sides. Phillip quickly donned his robes before grabbing the short sword that his father had forced him to learn how to use, for his own protection, should his Praecantry fail him. One of Phillip’s guards, a tall, well-muscled man with dark skin, gripped a spear tightly and moved into the hallway, “It’s clear your majesty,” he said, gesturing for Phillip to come forward. As he proceeded into the hallway, his two other guards followed close to him. They moved away from the fighting, with one guard in front of Phillip, and two covering the rear. The guard closest behind him was a pale, middle aged man with a long beard, a bow in his hand, and a quiver on his back. Further behind him was the tall, dark skinned guard with the spear, and in front of him was his personal guard, who was tan from constantly supervising the young Macedonian prince, who was often asleep under the sun. Phillip’s personal guard, who was named Feron, wielded a sword in his left hand and held a shield in his right. The group of four proceeded to the stables, where they planned to mount horses and escape while they could. As it turned out, that wasn’t going to happen. When they stepped into the stables, there was a group of fifteen Persian soldiers who’d came to take the animals as part of the war loot. The Persians turned toward the group of four, all of which braced themselves for the fight. One of the Persians rushed forward, coming in for a strike with his axe, the older man behind Phillip shot an arrow right between the Persian soldier’s eyes. The other fourteen Persians attacked as a group, two of the enemy warriors came forward to attack Feron, who was a more than a skilled enough fighter to defeat two enemies at once. Although, with Feron forced to battle the two sword wielding soldiers, that allowed two more soldiers with spears to attack the bearded archer behind him. Phillip’s final guard sent a spear through the chest of one of the two Persians battling the middle aged bowman. Phillip was a skilled Praecantor, and knew there was not going to be an alternative to battle. Refusing to merely watch as his guards fought to protect him, the Macedonian prince let out a blast of his newly-learned Greek fire on the second Persian fighting his archer guard, singeing his unfortunate victim horribly. In front of him, Feron slashed the thigh of one of the two enemy warriors who’d attacked him, and as the Persian warrior fell to his knees, Feron bashed the rim of his shield into his foe’s chest, causing him to fall over and lay still, either unconscious or dead. The second Persian took the opportunity to stab at Feron’s ribs, the blade was unable to sink in before Phillip singed the enemy soldier with a blast of green flame, but the hit was still serious. The large, spear wielding guard sprinted forward and took one the next two Persians to grant Feron the chance to recover from the blow to his ribs. The Macedonian prince glanced nervously at his personal guard, “I’m fine, training would often leave me with wounds worse than this,” he said, trying to ease Phillip’s worries. Phillip glanced around, his spear wielding guard was hard pressed to keep the remaining Persian soldiers at bay, and more troops would be hear the fighting and come to aid their brethren soon. Then, there was a cry of agony, and Phillip saw his spear wielding guard fall to the ground, the ground around slowly becoming wet with blood. Feron’s recovery was over, and the prince’s personal guard sprang back into action, slashing rapidly at the Persian soldiers who’d killed his ally. The older guard behind Phillip yelled, “More from behind!” before three arrows found their way to his chest, dropping him to the ground. Phillip let out a blast of Greek fire down the hall, turning a Persian soldier into ash. The Macedonian prince felt his heart drop, there was almost a legion coming in from behind them. Feron cried out as a Persian axe found its way to his shoulder, digging in deep and killing him instantly.
Phillip was filled with fear and grief. Three people had just died trying to protect him, and he didn’t even know the names of two of them. Feron had been more than a guard to the prince, he’d been a close friend. Phillip’s father hadn’t been around all too often, but he could remember Feron since he was a toddler. The Macedonian prince stood straight, if he was going to die, he would die like royalty. The two groups of enemy soldiers advanced slowly but eagerly, and the prince backed away cautiously, moving so he was no longer in between the two groups. He felt his back press up against a wall. Phillip took out the short sword he’d been taught to fight with and sent it flying into the crowd of Persian soldiers that advanced toward him. Then, he pulled the small amulet of the Macedonian royal family out from his pocket and placed it around his neck. Next, he pressed his hands together, and demonstrated his country’s Praecantry. A warm feeling began to run up his arms, Phillip could feel his fingers stretch into claws, his bones grow thicker, and the muscles in his arms and legs expand. As this happened, thick grey fur grew all over his body. Phillip’s shoulders stretched wider apart, and he grew taller until he stood at around eight feet tall. He felt a sensation in his jaw, like a yawn, as his teeth became long and sharp, and his face became wolf like in nature. Fur covered the majority of Phillip’s body before his eyes finally changed color. They went from their normal blue to a lupine gold, his pupils turning to bestial slivers of black. The Persian soldiers took a collective step back, and Phillip exploited the opportunity and rushed forward, using the large claws at the ends of his fingers to slash at the throats of the soldiers before him. The prince let out a wolf like howl, and leaped atop one of the Persian warriors, crushing him. He took the axe of the soldier he stood atop of, and dashed forward again, slicing through a number of the soldiers before him. In this form, Phillip was too fast for his enemies to do much more than scratch him. Phillip smashed the axe through the shield of one of the warriors who stood before him, then the prince hurled the man behind him. As he tore through the Persian soldiers, three more stepped in to the stables. A man in a long beige cloak, and two soldiers to either side of him. Phillip charged the cloaked figure, brandishing the axe he’d taken from one of the fallen Persian soldiers. The man didn’t move, simply held up his hand. Just before Phillip could bring the axe down, a blast of white energy shot out from the man’s palm, sending the Macedonian prince flying through the far wall of the stable and onto the ground. The world before him darkened, and he could hear voices speaking dimly in Persian.
A knock at the door brought Phillip back to the present, “Excuse me, but I’ve brought clothes, Ecrates instructed me to provide you with something more comfortable than prison garb,” the voice said. The prince stood and opened the door, a guard stood there, his spear propped up outside the door frame, “I hear you’re the prince of Macedonia,” he said, bowing gracefully with respect, “They’re far from royal robes, but I hope you’ll find these comfortable,” he finished. The prince thanked the guard, who then reminded him that all Maha Dasta attendees were to be at the grand atrium soon. Phillip changed into the robes he’d been provided, they were comfortable, but maybe a little too big. Unlike the long, flowing blue robes he’d worn as a prince, these were a simple grey color and just barely touched the ground. His hair, in its current length was tied into a pony-tail. Hopefully, Phillip would find a way to cut it soon, he hated having long hair. Now ready, the prince headed down a flight of stairs that connected the student quarters to the other floors. A sea of students wearing robes similar to his own awaited him, the mass of bodies was moving in the general direction of the Grand Atrium, but there were so many that it was hard to tell. Phillip merged into the group, traveling at an easy walking pace through the halls of the massive building that was the Maha Dasta. Some people passed by him, others walked beside him, regardless, there was a countless amount of people in any direction. As the group proceeded forward, the door of the Grand Atrium came well into view. It was open, and the group slowly proceeded inside. The inside was filled with benches that went upwards at a slant, like an arena of some sort. At the center was a sort of stage, and a golden orb floated in the center of it, casting light throughout the room. Phillip took a seat near the top row and watched as the massive area filled with students, many wearing the same grey cloak as himself. Next to him, a boy about Phillip’s age in a blue cloak sat down. He had red hair that stuck messily upwards in all directions, a sharp pointed nose, and soft grey eyes. The boy glanced over at the prince, and said something Phillip couldn’t quite make out in Persian. Something about a race, maybe? Raising an eyebrow, Phillip asked, “My Persian isn’t as good as I’d like it to be, could you repeat that?” The boy waved a hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about it, I’m from Greece myself, so my Persian’s not that great either. I said hello, and asked what you thought of the place,” he said, “Oh, I’m Vanus, by the way,” he continued. Phillip nodded, “I’m Phillip. And this place is alright, it’s a lot different from home,” the prince said. Vanus laughed, “Yeah, it sure is, isn’t it? This place is massive!” Phillip smiled, this place wasn’t that much larger than the castle he used to live in, and he had way more comfortable beds back home. Ecrates stepped out onto the stage below, “Hello students!” he said, throwing his arms out wide and turning so he could look at the entire group of students, “For many, this will be your first year here, learning Praecantry at the Maha Dasta. For some, this will be you’re second, third, or even-” Phillip couldn’t quite tell what the bearded man was saying for a moment, though he suspected that the count went up to some higher number, “Or even eighth year,” Ecrates finished, “I’ll try to make this go by quickly. There are only a few rules, but I request that you follow them closely. Do not fight other students, outside of monitored duels between Praecantors of course. Secondly, you may not leave the premises of the Maha Dasta without the permission of and/or presence of a teacher here. Third, students must have the written order of a teacher to take anything out of the library. There’s a lot of dangerous Praecantry in there, and we can’t have students shooting it off willy-nilly. Lastly, there will be a curfew, and anyone out of their dorm rooms past that time will be returned to them by whatever means needed. Additionally, here at the Maha Dasta, we run independently from the king, so your bloodline here is meaningless. As always, I will call the new students up to give them their first ring,” Ecrates then began calling out the given and house names if the various students attending. Names like, “Kreth of the house of Izucard,” The young boy, Kreth, looked nervous about being up in front of so many people. Kreth had short, curly brown hair, and had fair skin, a stark contrast to Phillip’s own. Many other names were called after, until Ecrates called out a name the prince knew well: “Phillip of the Royal House of Macedonia.” The crowd’s surprise was almost tangible, Ecrates had called out other nobles, but none of a Royal House, or one directly linked to the king. Phillip stood before proceeding down through the crowd to the stage. Ecrates handed him a ring, which Phillip slipped around his middle finger. Once the prince had returned to his seat, Ecrates spoke out “For those of you have just been given their first rings, they signify your rank as a student at the Maha Dasta, and grant you varying levels of authority here and outside. You have been granted rank one of eight, and you will be given the final rank upon graduation.” The old man proceeded to call out other names, giving out rings for students who’d been here longer. “Orion of the Noble House of Dranae” only member of this group who stood out was around Phillip’s age, but taller and more muscular. He also had long black hair that fell gracefully around his shoulders. More importantly, there was something about him that the prince of Macedonia didn’t like. Ecrates turned to go, but stopped before he reached the door. The old man turned before saying, “Thank you for attending here, and I hope you’ll take a lot away from your time here,” after which he left, signaling for the students to do so as well.
Many students stood up, Vanus turned to the prince as he did so, “So, you’re a prince. Correct me if I’m wrong...but...uh, you don’t want to be here, do you?” Vanus inquired. The young prince shook his head, “No, I’d very much like to be out of here sooner rather than later. How about you?” Vanus shrugged, “I’m not planning to break out of here on my own, but I would rather be home in Athens,” he said. Phillip stood up and held out his hand, “Let’s work together then, we’ll need all the help we can get to get past all the guards,” The redheaded boy clasped Phillip’s hand, “You’re right, your majesty,” he said with a nod. The prince shook his head, “Please, call me Phillip. Ecrates did say that bloodlines don’t mean anything here, didn’t he?” The prince asked rhetorically. He might as well get used to the lack or royal treatment now, while he was just starting out. Vanus nodding approvingly, “Alright then. You know, most of the nobles and such who come here never shake their titles. The dude who got his ring right after you, Orion, he’s been here for longer than I have, and he’s still ‘Duke Orion of the Northern Province’,” Vanus grumbled, saying his name with mock respect. Phillip chuckled, and Vanus grinned, “Anyway, we’ve got to find out what room you’re in. Cross your fingers that you don’t get stuck with the Duke,” he said, starting off towards the door. The young prince followed his new friend, “By the way, how many years have you been here?” he asked. Vanus rounded a corner as he replied, “Different cloak colors mean different years, grey is for the first years, white is for the second years, blue is three, red is four, green is five, orange is six, black is seven, brown is eight, and beige means that you’ve graduated,” Vanus explained. “Usually, you get a ring every year, but you can also get them for doing something really extraordinary,” he added. As the two of them rounded another corner, a long line awaited them, “Man, they’re going slow this year…” Vanus said softly, “They give out room keys at the end of the line,” the third year student stated. The prince nodded, “How long is this going to take?” he asked. Vanus shrugged, “I ‘dunno. Probably a while, things are moving pretty slow,” the Athenian boy said. Phillip and Vanus made simple conversation as the line shuffled slowly forward. As it turned out, Vanus was from a family of entertainers who were based in Athens but traveled all over Greece. He’d been heading off towards Ionia in a caravan when Persian soldiers assumed they were a war caravan and attacked. The group fought back, and the redhead ended up getting taken as a prisoner. Vanus also promised to teach Phillip everything he knew about Greek fire, in exchange for Vanus’s family getting roles as castle staff. Vanus then reached the front of the line, and was handed a small key with a note attached, “See you later Phillip,” he said before heading off to his room. Phillip was next in line, and was handed a small key, “You’re in the same room that you were given when you arrived,” a young woman with blonde hair in a beige cloak explained from behind the desk. The prince nodded before heading back to the room. After heading back up the stairs, Phillip went to his dorm room. He’d likely be sharing it with at least two other people, since the room had three beds. The door was ajar, despite his having closed it when he left. Whoever his new roommates were, at least one of them was already inside. The prince pushed open the door slowly, his new roommate had his back to the door, but Phillip could still identify exactly who it was. Vanus’s messy red hair was unmistakable. The prince smiled and closed the door behind him, “Surprise surprise,” he said with a chuckle. The redheaded third year student turned around slowly, looking like a deer in a trap before his face brightened at the sight of Phillip, “Well, talk about lucky, the two escapees being put together,” he started, “Usually, it’s three to a room, so there’ll be one m-” Vanus was interrupted by a third person pushing open the door. The third member of the dorm entered looking down nervously at the floor, short curly hair hanging down, and a too-large grey cloak hanging down from his shoulders, “H-hey...I’m Kreth,” he said nervously. The name fit him poorly, Kreth was short for a boy, but seemed to be in better shape than both of the other two boys, but his grey cloak was large enough that it was difficult to tell. Vanus waved, “Hey, call me Vanus,” the third year student said easily. Phillip held out one hand, “I’m Phillip, the one everyone in the crowd earlier gasped about,” the prince introduced himself. Kreth shook Phillip’s hand firmly with surprisingly soft hands, “It’s nice to meet you both,” he said quietly. As the quiet boy looked up, Phillip noticed he had green eyes, flaked with what the young prince thought to be gold. Unlike the two other boys, who’d been brought to the Maha Dasta against their will, Kreth had come by choice, and had a bag to unpack, small though it was. He set the small soft leather bag down by the bed closest to the door. Then Vanus threw himself onto one of the two beds by the window with a soft thump, “This one’s mine,” he claimed, looking up towards the ceiling. Phillip moved over to the second bed next to the window before sitting down at the foot of the bed, “So...Kreth, where are you from?” the young prince asked. Kreth pushed his index fingers together nervously, “Oh, I-I’m from a small merchant family in the Western Province. We sold reagents for potions and alchemy for the most part. I applied here after my family was robbed by bandits and lost most of their money, so I came here to become a Lion Soldier and use the research and equipment funds to support them. Besides, if I join a Pride, I’d get to see the world…” he said softly. Phillip tilted his head to one side slightly, “A Pride? What’s that?” the young prince asked. Kreth stammered nervously, “W-well...it’s...uhm…” the young, curly haired boy said something too quietly for Phillip to understand. From his bed directly across from Phillip, Vanus explained, “It’s a group of Lion Soldiers, they usually operate in groups of seven, with two teams of three and a commander. They’ll usually send a Pride in as an advance team to a country that the Persian Military will invade to soften up the target country’s military. They often serve as assassins for the king, but each one is said to be trained well enough to defeat ten Spartans,” Phillip’s eyes widened in surprise, the Spartans were likely the most well trained warriors on the planet, and a single Lion Soldier was allegedly more dangerous than ten of them, “Whoa...That’s crazy!” Phillip exclaimed, “Just what do they teach here? I mean, I get they teach Praecantry, but it would take more than that to kill ten Spartans at once,” Vanus sat up in his bed, “They also teach armed and unarmed physical combat, alchemy, riding, sailing, and how to survive in the wild. There’s also a multitude of optional classes, like stealth, diplomacy, blacksmithing, and the medical arts,” the redhead explained, “Anyways, now that everyone has arrived, they’ll be pulling various people out to the arena to test their skills and determine whose class you’ll be in. The tests are meant to be tough, and they change every year. My first year here there was one about crossing a giant pit that had snakes at the bottom. There was a really cool one about stopping a charging bull last year. That one was pretty easy. I don’t know how much you know about Athenian entertainers, but most of us specialize in Illusion magic, and master fire to protect ourselves when we hit the road.” Phillip remembered hearing something like that, but couldn’t remember where, “Oh,” the prince said with a simple nod. Vanus opened his mouth to say something else, but a knock at the door interrupted him, the door opened slowly and a tall, fair-skinned man with a light beard stood in the doorway, a simple club hung at his waist, and he held a shield in one arm, “We’ll be testing the students in this dorm block now, the three of you are to come with me,” he said with routine ease. The three young students stood, and the young guard beckoned for them to follow, “Right this way children,” he said, “Stay close, I don’t want any of you three getting lost in here,” he added, “We had that happen once, the poor kid wasn’t found for a week,” the guard continued with a laugh. The group headed down the hall, passing other groups of three who were led by other guards. The boy Phillip knew to be Orion was led by a shorter guard with a large nose, along with two others. The red cloaked student glared at Phillip as he mouthed something in Persian, a taunt by the prince’s guess. The two groups came to a split in the hallway, and while Phillip and company went to the left, while Orion and his group headed off to the right. The guard came to a simple iron door and knocked twice. The door was opened by two other guards, “Off you go,” the guard who’d brought the group of three here said, gesturing inside. There room was actually a short hall, the iron doors behind them and another set of wooden ones on the other side. In between the two sets of double were three simple stools, Vanus sat down on the stool closest to the far door as the two iron doors swung shut with a loud metallic clang. Kreth jumped a little at the sound, and Phillip glanced about, feeling uneasy about being trapped in. Vanus on the other hand, looked perfectly relaxed, “Don’t worry, they’ll open the wooden ones in a second and call somebody inside in a second,” he said. As if on cue, the wooden doors opened a crack, and the old librarian, Kraen, who Phillip had met just a day earlier, poked his head out, “Vanus of the traveling family of Restej, enter,” the redheaded third year student stood up, “Well, looks like I’m up first. See you two later,” he said easily before entering. The wooden door shut behind him with a loud thud, leaving Kreth and the young Prince alone in the short hallway. The room was filled with a rather awkward silence, as the two didn’t really know what to say to one another, “You said you wanted to see the world, where did you want to go?” Phillip asked, more to break the silence than of an actual desire to know. The nervous boy pressed his fingers together shyly, “Uhm...I was thinking Greece, but I’ve heard Egypt is really beautiful, so I might go there,” he said. Phillip nodded, “Oh, cool. I’ve been to Greece,” the prince responded, leaning back slightly on his stool. Kreth’s eyes gleamed with a sudden excitement, “Really?! What’s it like?!” he asked, the shyness that typically floated about him gone. Phillip smiled, “It’s really amazing, there these massive temples, and there’s more marble than anyone should ever have. Each of the city-states have their own style of building, and they differ drastically from one to the next, I’m sure you’d love it,” Phillip went on explaining what Greece was like for what felt like a couple hours before the door opened and the old librarian poked his head out of the door and called Phillip in. The young prince stood up, “I’ll see you later, I guess,” Kreth said with a small wave. Phillip nodded, “Yeah,” he said before he entered, the door closing behind him with a heavy thump. The room inside was larger than Phillip would have expected, and had a floor made out of what appeared to be sandstone. At the far end of the room there was another door, and on the two other sides were two large tables, a few simple weapons lying on each. On the table to his left sat a few different swords, a bow with a quiver of arrows, a long, flat headed spear, two different axes, and a large war-hammer. To his right, the weapons were of a different variety, Praecantor’s tools, to be exact. While Praecantry could be channeled through any given object, certain things were better than others, various gems and different types of wood being the best. The old librarian, Kraen, spoke, his gravelly voice sounding somewhat strange in the large room, “The easiest way to test your skills is by putting them to the test. You’ll have two pre-selected opponents to face, there is no time limit, I’d advise taking something from one of the tables,” he said with a shrug, “There’ll be other tests today as well, so don’t worry if combat Praecantry isn’t your forte,” Phillip turned to the table to his right, knowing that his lack of physical strength made Praecantry his best bet as a weapon. Striding swiftly over, the prince took a look at the options presented to him, and reviewed what he knew of Praecantry in his head. There were three simple rods, made of Oak, Birch, and Olive woods, and tipped with Ruby, Amethyst, and Jade respectively. Additionally, there were three long staves, made of Oak, Birch, and a black wood that Phillip believed to be Ebony. The third staff appealed to him somehow, the long and simple black shaft of wood was tipped with a pointed shard of Sapphire, which seemed to grow out from the wood of the staff like a branch from a tree. Taking the staff up in his hand, the young prince was surprised by the weight of the smooth wooden staff, it was heavier than he’d thought it would be, though it was very much to his liking. Phillip planted the bottom of the staff onto the ground, causing a thunk that reverberated around the room, “I’m ready,” he said, sounding far more confident than he actually felt. He worried about who’d be coming out of the other door, for all he knew, it could be the King of Persia himself. Phillip moved to stand by the door he’d came in from, and just when he came to that spot, the far door creaked open.
In the year 1822, all magic was wiped from having ever existed. History lost the years when powerful spell casters, or Praecantors, as they were called, ruled the earth, sky, and sea. The Praecantors were at their peak in the time of ancient Greece, when Persia still ruled the area...
Chapter One,
The Prince of Macedonia.
A middle aged man sat at a table, a small stack of handwritten papers in front of him, at the other end of the table, there was a young boy who’d been taken prisoner in the attack on Greece, and been escorted back to Persia as a slave. Yet, his melting the chains and burning one of the wardens with green fire had oddly saved his fate, as his skill with Praecantry, had deemed him to be trained as one of the great Persian Lion Soldiers, an elite group of warriors who took down their foes with both spell and spear. Now, the boy sat in a plain room, wooden floors, simple stone walls, and one tapestry depicting the king on the far side, behind the middle aged man. A long and oppressive silence filled the small room, like someone pressing down on your shoulders.
After a time, the middle aged man looked up at the boy "What's your name, boy?" he asked, his voice a strange break in the silence. The child glanced up at the man, the boy spoke didn’t speak Persian, and did not understand the middle aged man, so he simply tilted his head, unsure of the question. The middle aged man sighed loudly, then leaned back in his chair. "Boy, what name?" he said in broken Greek. The young boy answered, "Phillip. And I'm not Greek, I am the prince of Macedonia, you'll release me at once," he said with a royal authority in his voice. The middle aged man just laughed before continuing in Greek, "Now you Persian, not the Persia prince," Phillip, the young prince furrowed his brows together, looking very angry, and “I. AM. ROYALTY," he said slowly, his voice dripping with venom. The man struck him across the face with the back of his hand, "You Persian now, Praecantor you, go to great school, become Lion Soldier," he said, then called to the guards outside the room to take the Macedonian prince away. Two guards, one a shorter, pudgy fellow, with a fat nose and sword at his waist, and the other a taller, more muscular man, holding a spear in one hand, entered the plain room. The two men grabbed Phillip under the arms, and dragged him out of the room. The young prince didn't struggle. He'd been taught how to act in a hostage situation, and he could always make his escape later. Once they were outside, the two men let him go, dropping him cruelly to the ground, laughing and taunting him in Persian. The shorter guard shoved him forward, before the taller one grabbed him by his wrist and yanked him along, eventually tossing him into the back of a horse-drawn cart. Phillip hit the inside of the cart with a grunt. The pudgy guard then tied his wrists together before closing the back of the cart with a thump. Then, the two guards got in the front of the cart, flicked the reigns, and set the cart going. As the cart bumped up and down with an unsteady rhythm, Phillip watched buildings pass by, some with signs, all written in Persian, of course. He looked down at the knot that bound his hands. It kept his hands just barely too far apart to touch them together, but he couldn't pull them apart at all either; it was a knot designed to keep him from using Praecantry, smart. He bit at the knot, trying to pick apart the knot with his teeth. After a solid half hour of biting and pulling, the cart came to a sudden stop. The two men came back around to the back of the cart, the short pudgy man opened the back, and the taller one sliced apart the knot with a small knife while saying something in Persian and pointing at a giant dome-roofed building before grabbing his shoulder and shoving him out. The Macedonian prince hit the ground, his face splashing into the mud. There was a man with a short white beard in a red toga standing in front of the two of them, and he carried an air of authority. He yelled something in Persian at the taller man, who immediately helped Phillip up to his feet, before scurrying away back to the cart. The shorter fellow had a short discussion with the robed man, before getting into the cart and leaving.
The robed man turned to Phillip, said something in Persian, then seeing he didn't understand, then he spoke in Greek, "Where are you from?" he asked, Phillip's eyes widened, surprised at the robed man's skills in language to speak Greek so well, "Macedonia," Phillip answered, "I'm Phillip, son of the Macedonian king." The robed man bowed respectfully, the first time anyone in Persia had treated Phillip befitting his rank, "It is my honor, your greatness, I am Ecrates, I teach here at the Maha Dasta, an Academy for Praecantry," Ecrates spoke respectfully, like he was talking to a prince; he also spoke in Macedonian. However, while he spoke kindly, Phillip could tell, quite easily, that the man held no respect for his power, the way Phillip spoke to a lesser noble. The Macedonian prince was running out of patience for this treatment, he rubbed his hands together, causing green sparks to shoot off between his fingers, until they filled with the green flame, Greek fire, a dangerous type of fire Praecantry, "You're a powerful person here, get me home," he said with a regal authority. Ecrates raised an eyebrow, as if mildly surprised, "Hmm...I was expecting Macedonian Beast Praecantry, interesting," he said, like he was taking a note. Phillip growled, "Now," he stated. Ecrates let out a deep breath, small flecks of frost flying from his mouth, before changing into water and putting out Phillips flames like rain. The older man's eyes sparkled with superiority, "I can't let you go home, though after your training...well, then it's not up to me anymore," he said with a knowing smile. Phillip had never seen something like that, as far as he knew, nobody had ever doused Greek fire so easily..."How did you do that?!" Phillip demanded, to which Ecrates responded with a wry grin, "Why don't you come in and learn?" He asked, gesturing to the massive building behind him. Phillip, fully understanding the rhetorical nature of the older man's question, grudgingly marched toward the massive, dome-roofed building. The path was nice, made of lightly packed gravel that crunched pleasantly under the young prince's feet. It was also lined with small flowers, and two large trees grew near the entrance. Right as Phillip reached for the door, Ecrates stopped him, "Listen your majesty, with all due respect, you are filthy. There are six pools that go around the edge of the building, go clean up in one of them," he said, gesturing around the side. Phillip nodded, he could still feel some of the mud on his face from when the guard had shoved him over. The gravel path branched off at the doors, before circling around the building, following it around the left side, he kneeled down at the edge of one of the pools the older man had spoken of; looking in at his reflection he noticed just how long his hair had gotten in his time as a captive of Persia. His hair was normally short, and the color of freshly baked bread: a wonderful golden-brownish color. Now, it was a long mess of thick, dark, muddy hair, like a horse’s mane. The Prince of Macedonia flipped his hair over his shoulders and washed it thoroughly, returning it to its normal color. Next he took a look at his face, his golden tan skin was smudged with thick blackish-brown mud. After scrubbing away at that, he took the first real notice of how different he looked than the way he was used to. The simple prisoner's garb differed drastically from the long, flowing robes he'd worn for most of his life, and the soft skin of his hands was covered in small scratches. Looking back into the pool, he noticed his eyes for the first time. Sure, he knew what color they were, and where they were located on his face, but he'd never really noticed them. They weren't just blue, like he'd thought of them. They looked like the sea, frozen in the middle of a storm: they were a lighter blue at the center, near his pupil, but got progressively darker toward the edges. Phillip snapped back to the present at the sound of feat crunching the gravel behind him, "I thought you'd ran off, took you so long," the voice of the Ecrates said from behind him, "By the way, we're going to have to teach you Persian, if you're ever going to be able to get out of here," he said the last part offhandedly, like it was something he said constantly. Phillip stood up, took a deep breath, and said, "If I'm going to master Praecantry, and learn to speak a third language, I may as well learn everything else I can be taught here," he said seriously. If he was stuck here, he was going to make the best of it.
About a day went by, Ecrates had told Phillip to go and get a feel for the building, so far, he'd discovered where the bathrooms were, the dorms were in a separate building, but he'd located those earlier, and he knew where most of the classrooms were, and had heard that there was a library; while he had yet to find it, Phillip was searching. He liked books, and the library was said to be the biggest in Persia. How a library like that could hide, Phillip did not know. The other students wouldn't show up for a few more days, so Phillip had some time to get used to things, and to learn as much Persian as he could from Ecrates. Eventually, Phillip found a set of double doors he had yet to open, placed his hands on the round brass door handles, and then pushed them open. On the other side, was a large, brightly lit room, filled to the brim with scrolls. Phillip was awestruck, the shelves seemed to go forever, and each one was filled to the brim with scrolls and massive scripts of paper that had been bound with string. The prince of Macedonia entered and slowly closed the door behind him, glancing up at the massive shelves. This place was huge! The bright light didn't seem to come to from anywhere Phillip could see, like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. After snapping out of his stupor, Phillip took another step into the massive library, determined to find the source of the light, there were no flames, no candles, and no lamps that the prince could see. After looking around, he figured out the secret of the room. The floors, made of black and white marble, where covered in small flecks of gold which glowed somewhat, together making up the light of the room. The ceiling glowed due to similar flecks all over it. After figuring it out, Phillip pulled a scroll off the shelf and sat down at the foot of one of the shelves. He opened the scroll, and scanned the text, it was in Persian. Thankfully, Ecrates had done a good job teaching him, and had figured out how to read and write Persian text. It was a document on the different kinds of Praecantry, which Phillip was incredibly interested in. He glanced down through the different headings, each of which was about a different kind of Praecantry, and different functions of it. Phillip, at the moment anyway, was only looking for one thing: Fire Praecantry. That was what currently interested him, and he would master it before anything else. Sure, he could do the Beast Praecantry that his people created, but it was nothing like fire. After skimming down for a short ways, he came across a section clearly labeled "FIRE PRAECANTRY" in large, flowing Persian script, there was more under that, "One of the most offensively devastating forms of Praecantry, Fire Praecantry is commonly thought of as a devastating art of summoning flames used solely to burn away ones enemies. However, this fails to do it justice. A flame Praecantor, assuming he knows what he or she is doing, can use the powerful flames for much more than mindless destruction, uses include burning wounds closed, using the heat to kill disease, and forging new structures out of molten metal or rock. However, in order to properly control the great flames created, a Praecantor who wishes to master this godly art must possess great willpower to keep the flames from simply burning all they touch. At the will of the user, assuming the will is strong enough, the flames will burn, melt, heal, or avoid whatever or whomever the user wishes." This passage taught Phillip something he was unaware of, while he knew he could make his flames take on whatever shape he wished, he was unaware of the full extent this could be taken, the passage went on to explain ways to change color, cease producing smoke, and explain all of amazing things that it specified.
"You know, you're supposed to ask before taking my books," said a scratchy voice. Phillip bolted upright, locating the source of the voice. Standing in front of him, was the single oldest creature the young prince of Macedonia had ever seen, he was like a skeleton wrapped in a bag of flesh, and he walked hunched over a simple wooden cane. Two piercing green eyes shone out from under a strange, wide brimmed hat. The man was also wearing a long flowing blue robe, "I'm sorry sir, I've only been here a day. I'm unaware of the way things work here," he said. The old man looked at Phillip from under his hat, "I can tell. Where are you from boy?" he asked. Placing the scroll carefully back on the shelf Phillip spoke, "I am Phillip, prince of Macedonia, to where I'll return once I've learned everything here," Phillip said confidently. The older man sighed, "Two guards escorted you here, correct? In a simple caravan, while you were bound at the wrists?" he asked. Phillip raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, how did you know?" the prince asked, to which the small old man replied, "Because I'm from even further away than you are, and I’ve spent a great many years trying to leave Persia, now look at me," he spoke with a great sadness behind his voice. Phillip shook his head, undaunted. He placed his hand on the old man's shoulder, "What is your name, I'll get us out of here together," he stated, determination filling his voice. The old man shook his head again, "Most call me Kraen, and you'll never escape the Persians, their empire goes further than the winds, boy. But, I suppose there's nothing an old man like me has to lose... so learn everything, and then let's give that a shot, hmm?" he said with a light chuckle at the end, while he may have laughed, there was no humor in it. "Regardless, your Persian is rusty, young prince, you should practice it. The other students arrive tomorrow." Kraen said, walking slowly to an old wooden desk in the opposite end of the room, "Pleasure meeting you, I've always wondered what royalty were like," he said, gesturing toward the door as he walked away, "And the library isn't open to students without a teacher's permission," he said. Phillip took his leave, hoping that what Kraen had said, about there being no escape, was just the ramblings of an old man. Regardless, he needed two things, more practice with his Persian and sleep. Lots of sleep.
It was early the next morning when Phillip awoke, lying on his back as he gazed up at the ceiling from his bed. It was different from what Phillip was used to, and he'd barely slept a wink on this bed. Years of a pampered palace lifestyle had gotten him used to extravagantly comfortable beds, and he never once remembered being cold at night. Last night, he'd shivered and been uncomfortable, he'd tossed and he'd turned, and had greatly missed his pampered palace life. Phillip just wanted to go home, and return to his life as a prince, where servants catered to his every wish and demand. Phillip’s plans were different now, he needed to get out of here, and soon. The young prince strode to his window, watching as a large number of carts pulled up to the doors of the massive domed building that was the Maha Dasta. Most of them were children, none of them looked like they had seen more than 20 winters. The gentle curve of the building cut him off from seeing the door, or whoever was greeting the oncoming crowd of students; however, he could see the students as they left the caravan of mule-drawn wagons. Unlike Phillip’s arrival, these students and students to be were perfectly willing to head off, and stepped down from the wagon with ease, some even receiving help from the guards when they got down. Phillip had been thrown face first into the mud, and these commoners were practically being carried down from the wagon! Phillip was outraged, he was a prince, they should be honored to have him here, yet it was commoners who got treated well. Regardless, Phillip would have to stomach this indecency if he was ever to leave here. His exploration yesterday had shown him it would be no easy task, and it would be harder now than it would have been before. Yesterday, Ecrates was the only person standing between him and his return to Macedonia. Now, there was also a small army of guards, and they looked like good ones. The guards wore full armor, and wielded long spears or large heavy clubs. Right now, most of the guards supervised the crowd, but after all the students had settled in, they’d likely be patrolling the grounds for would be escapees like himself. Escaping from the Maha Dasta would not be something he could do on his own. Phillip sat down at the base of the window. How did I get myself into this mess? The young prince thought dejectedly. It was an interesting story, actually…
Phillip had been sent as a diplomat to the city of Thrace, he was supposed to negotiate his nation’s help in the Greek-Persia war, and his father had promised to aid Greek troops. The deal went something like this, Phillip’s father would aid the Greeks in the Peloponnesian war and his son would teach Macedonian Beast Praecantry to the Thracian nobles, who would teach Phillip Greek Fire Praecantry, and grant his father one favor to be named later. Phillip shook hands with the Thracian King, and over the course of a day, the two taught each other the Praecantry of their respective nations. The sun was just barely reaching over the horizon when Phillip was awoken by one of his guards, “Your majesty, we must go!” he said urgently, panic gleaming in his eyes. The young prince stood up groggily, unsure as to what was happening. Before Phillip could ask however, there was a scream of pain from the courtyard. Persians were here! The Thracian and Persian forces clashed, and the sound of metal clashing against metal pressed in on the Macedonian prince from all sides. Phillip quickly donned his robes before grabbing the short sword that his father had forced him to learn how to use, for his own protection, should his Praecantry fail him. One of Phillip’s guards, a tall, well-muscled man with dark skin, gripped a spear tightly and moved into the hallway, “It’s clear your majesty,” he said, gesturing for Phillip to come forward. As he proceeded into the hallway, his two other guards followed close to him. They moved away from the fighting, with one guard in front of Phillip, and two covering the rear. The guard closest behind him was a pale, middle aged man with a long beard, a bow in his hand, and a quiver on his back. Further behind him was the tall, dark skinned guard with the spear, and in front of him was his personal guard, who was tan from constantly supervising the young Macedonian prince, who was often asleep under the sun. Phillip’s personal guard, who was named Feron, wielded a sword in his left hand and held a shield in his right. The group of four proceeded to the stables, where they planned to mount horses and escape while they could. As it turned out, that wasn’t going to happen. When they stepped into the stables, there was a group of fifteen Persian soldiers who’d came to take the animals as part of the war loot. The Persians turned toward the group of four, all of which braced themselves for the fight. One of the Persians rushed forward, coming in for a strike with his axe, the older man behind Phillip shot an arrow right between the Persian soldier’s eyes. The other fourteen Persians attacked as a group, two of the enemy warriors came forward to attack Feron, who was a more than a skilled enough fighter to defeat two enemies at once. Although, with Feron forced to battle the two sword wielding soldiers, that allowed two more soldiers with spears to attack the bearded archer behind him. Phillip’s final guard sent a spear through the chest of one of the two Persians battling the middle aged bowman. Phillip was a skilled Praecantor, and knew there was not going to be an alternative to battle. Refusing to merely watch as his guards fought to protect him, the Macedonian prince let out a blast of his newly-learned Greek fire on the second Persian fighting his archer guard, singeing his unfortunate victim horribly. In front of him, Feron slashed the thigh of one of the two enemy warriors who’d attacked him, and as the Persian warrior fell to his knees, Feron bashed the rim of his shield into his foe’s chest, causing him to fall over and lay still, either unconscious or dead. The second Persian took the opportunity to stab at Feron’s ribs, the blade was unable to sink in before Phillip singed the enemy soldier with a blast of green flame, but the hit was still serious. The large, spear wielding guard sprinted forward and took one the next two Persians to grant Feron the chance to recover from the blow to his ribs. The Macedonian prince glanced nervously at his personal guard, “I’m fine, training would often leave me with wounds worse than this,” he said, trying to ease Phillip’s worries. Phillip glanced around, his spear wielding guard was hard pressed to keep the remaining Persian soldiers at bay, and more troops would be hear the fighting and come to aid their brethren soon. Then, there was a cry of agony, and Phillip saw his spear wielding guard fall to the ground, the ground around slowly becoming wet with blood. Feron’s recovery was over, and the prince’s personal guard sprang back into action, slashing rapidly at the Persian soldiers who’d killed his ally. The older guard behind Phillip yelled, “More from behind!” before three arrows found their way to his chest, dropping him to the ground. Phillip let out a blast of Greek fire down the hall, turning a Persian soldier into ash. The Macedonian prince felt his heart drop, there was almost a legion coming in from behind them. Feron cried out as a Persian axe found its way to his shoulder, digging in deep and killing him instantly.
Phillip was filled with fear and grief. Three people had just died trying to protect him, and he didn’t even know the names of two of them. Feron had been more than a guard to the prince, he’d been a close friend. Phillip’s father hadn’t been around all too often, but he could remember Feron since he was a toddler. The Macedonian prince stood straight, if he was going to die, he would die like royalty. The two groups of enemy soldiers advanced slowly but eagerly, and the prince backed away cautiously, moving so he was no longer in between the two groups. He felt his back press up against a wall. Phillip took out the short sword he’d been taught to fight with and sent it flying into the crowd of Persian soldiers that advanced toward him. Then, he pulled the small amulet of the Macedonian royal family out from his pocket and placed it around his neck. Next, he pressed his hands together, and demonstrated his country’s Praecantry. A warm feeling began to run up his arms, Phillip could feel his fingers stretch into claws, his bones grow thicker, and the muscles in his arms and legs expand. As this happened, thick grey fur grew all over his body. Phillip’s shoulders stretched wider apart, and he grew taller until he stood at around eight feet tall. He felt a sensation in his jaw, like a yawn, as his teeth became long and sharp, and his face became wolf like in nature. Fur covered the majority of Phillip’s body before his eyes finally changed color. They went from their normal blue to a lupine gold, his pupils turning to bestial slivers of black. The Persian soldiers took a collective step back, and Phillip exploited the opportunity and rushed forward, using the large claws at the ends of his fingers to slash at the throats of the soldiers before him. The prince let out a wolf like howl, and leaped atop one of the Persian warriors, crushing him. He took the axe of the soldier he stood atop of, and dashed forward again, slicing through a number of the soldiers before him. In this form, Phillip was too fast for his enemies to do much more than scratch him. Phillip smashed the axe through the shield of one of the warriors who stood before him, then the prince hurled the man behind him. As he tore through the Persian soldiers, three more stepped in to the stables. A man in a long beige cloak, and two soldiers to either side of him. Phillip charged the cloaked figure, brandishing the axe he’d taken from one of the fallen Persian soldiers. The man didn’t move, simply held up his hand. Just before Phillip could bring the axe down, a blast of white energy shot out from the man’s palm, sending the Macedonian prince flying through the far wall of the stable and onto the ground. The world before him darkened, and he could hear voices speaking dimly in Persian.
A knock at the door brought Phillip back to the present, “Excuse me, but I’ve brought clothes, Ecrates instructed me to provide you with something more comfortable than prison garb,” the voice said. The prince stood and opened the door, a guard stood there, his spear propped up outside the door frame, “I hear you’re the prince of Macedonia,” he said, bowing gracefully with respect, “They’re far from royal robes, but I hope you’ll find these comfortable,” he finished. The prince thanked the guard, who then reminded him that all Maha Dasta attendees were to be at the grand atrium soon. Phillip changed into the robes he’d been provided, they were comfortable, but maybe a little too big. Unlike the long, flowing blue robes he’d worn as a prince, these were a simple grey color and just barely touched the ground. His hair, in its current length was tied into a pony-tail. Hopefully, Phillip would find a way to cut it soon, he hated having long hair. Now ready, the prince headed down a flight of stairs that connected the student quarters to the other floors. A sea of students wearing robes similar to his own awaited him, the mass of bodies was moving in the general direction of the Grand Atrium, but there were so many that it was hard to tell. Phillip merged into the group, traveling at an easy walking pace through the halls of the massive building that was the Maha Dasta. Some people passed by him, others walked beside him, regardless, there was a countless amount of people in any direction. As the group proceeded forward, the door of the Grand Atrium came well into view. It was open, and the group slowly proceeded inside. The inside was filled with benches that went upwards at a slant, like an arena of some sort. At the center was a sort of stage, and a golden orb floated in the center of it, casting light throughout the room. Phillip took a seat near the top row and watched as the massive area filled with students, many wearing the same grey cloak as himself. Next to him, a boy about Phillip’s age in a blue cloak sat down. He had red hair that stuck messily upwards in all directions, a sharp pointed nose, and soft grey eyes. The boy glanced over at the prince, and said something Phillip couldn’t quite make out in Persian. Something about a race, maybe? Raising an eyebrow, Phillip asked, “My Persian isn’t as good as I’d like it to be, could you repeat that?” The boy waved a hand dismissively, “Don’t worry about it, I’m from Greece myself, so my Persian’s not that great either. I said hello, and asked what you thought of the place,” he said, “Oh, I’m Vanus, by the way,” he continued. Phillip nodded, “I’m Phillip. And this place is alright, it’s a lot different from home,” the prince said. Vanus laughed, “Yeah, it sure is, isn’t it? This place is massive!” Phillip smiled, this place wasn’t that much larger than the castle he used to live in, and he had way more comfortable beds back home. Ecrates stepped out onto the stage below, “Hello students!” he said, throwing his arms out wide and turning so he could look at the entire group of students, “For many, this will be your first year here, learning Praecantry at the Maha Dasta. For some, this will be you’re second, third, or even-” Phillip couldn’t quite tell what the bearded man was saying for a moment, though he suspected that the count went up to some higher number, “Or even eighth year,” Ecrates finished, “I’ll try to make this go by quickly. There are only a few rules, but I request that you follow them closely. Do not fight other students, outside of monitored duels between Praecantors of course. Secondly, you may not leave the premises of the Maha Dasta without the permission of and/or presence of a teacher here. Third, students must have the written order of a teacher to take anything out of the library. There’s a lot of dangerous Praecantry in there, and we can’t have students shooting it off willy-nilly. Lastly, there will be a curfew, and anyone out of their dorm rooms past that time will be returned to them by whatever means needed. Additionally, here at the Maha Dasta, we run independently from the king, so your bloodline here is meaningless. As always, I will call the new students up to give them their first ring,” Ecrates then began calling out the given and house names if the various students attending. Names like, “Kreth of the house of Izucard,” The young boy, Kreth, looked nervous about being up in front of so many people. Kreth had short, curly brown hair, and had fair skin, a stark contrast to Phillip’s own. Many other names were called after, until Ecrates called out a name the prince knew well: “Phillip of the Royal House of Macedonia.” The crowd’s surprise was almost tangible, Ecrates had called out other nobles, but none of a Royal House, or one directly linked to the king. Phillip stood before proceeding down through the crowd to the stage. Ecrates handed him a ring, which Phillip slipped around his middle finger. Once the prince had returned to his seat, Ecrates spoke out “For those of you have just been given their first rings, they signify your rank as a student at the Maha Dasta, and grant you varying levels of authority here and outside. You have been granted rank one of eight, and you will be given the final rank upon graduation.” The old man proceeded to call out other names, giving out rings for students who’d been here longer. “Orion of the Noble House of Dranae” only member of this group who stood out was around Phillip’s age, but taller and more muscular. He also had long black hair that fell gracefully around his shoulders. More importantly, there was something about him that the prince of Macedonia didn’t like. Ecrates turned to go, but stopped before he reached the door. The old man turned before saying, “Thank you for attending here, and I hope you’ll take a lot away from your time here,” after which he left, signaling for the students to do so as well.
Many students stood up, Vanus turned to the prince as he did so, “So, you’re a prince. Correct me if I’m wrong...but...uh, you don’t want to be here, do you?” Vanus inquired. The young prince shook his head, “No, I’d very much like to be out of here sooner rather than later. How about you?” Vanus shrugged, “I’m not planning to break out of here on my own, but I would rather be home in Athens,” he said. Phillip stood up and held out his hand, “Let’s work together then, we’ll need all the help we can get to get past all the guards,” The redheaded boy clasped Phillip’s hand, “You’re right, your majesty,” he said with a nod. The prince shook his head, “Please, call me Phillip. Ecrates did say that bloodlines don’t mean anything here, didn’t he?” The prince asked rhetorically. He might as well get used to the lack or royal treatment now, while he was just starting out. Vanus nodding approvingly, “Alright then. You know, most of the nobles and such who come here never shake their titles. The dude who got his ring right after you, Orion, he’s been here for longer than I have, and he’s still ‘Duke Orion of the Northern Province’,” Vanus grumbled, saying his name with mock respect. Phillip chuckled, and Vanus grinned, “Anyway, we’ve got to find out what room you’re in. Cross your fingers that you don’t get stuck with the Duke,” he said, starting off towards the door. The young prince followed his new friend, “By the way, how many years have you been here?” he asked. Vanus rounded a corner as he replied, “Different cloak colors mean different years, grey is for the first years, white is for the second years, blue is three, red is four, green is five, orange is six, black is seven, brown is eight, and beige means that you’ve graduated,” Vanus explained. “Usually, you get a ring every year, but you can also get them for doing something really extraordinary,” he added. As the two of them rounded another corner, a long line awaited them, “Man, they’re going slow this year…” Vanus said softly, “They give out room keys at the end of the line,” the third year student stated. The prince nodded, “How long is this going to take?” he asked. Vanus shrugged, “I ‘dunno. Probably a while, things are moving pretty slow,” the Athenian boy said. Phillip and Vanus made simple conversation as the line shuffled slowly forward. As it turned out, Vanus was from a family of entertainers who were based in Athens but traveled all over Greece. He’d been heading off towards Ionia in a caravan when Persian soldiers assumed they were a war caravan and attacked. The group fought back, and the redhead ended up getting taken as a prisoner. Vanus also promised to teach Phillip everything he knew about Greek fire, in exchange for Vanus’s family getting roles as castle staff. Vanus then reached the front of the line, and was handed a small key with a note attached, “See you later Phillip,” he said before heading off to his room. Phillip was next in line, and was handed a small key, “You’re in the same room that you were given when you arrived,” a young woman with blonde hair in a beige cloak explained from behind the desk. The prince nodded before heading back to the room. After heading back up the stairs, Phillip went to his dorm room. He’d likely be sharing it with at least two other people, since the room had three beds. The door was ajar, despite his having closed it when he left. Whoever his new roommates were, at least one of them was already inside. The prince pushed open the door slowly, his new roommate had his back to the door, but Phillip could still identify exactly who it was. Vanus’s messy red hair was unmistakable. The prince smiled and closed the door behind him, “Surprise surprise,” he said with a chuckle. The redheaded third year student turned around slowly, looking like a deer in a trap before his face brightened at the sight of Phillip, “Well, talk about lucky, the two escapees being put together,” he started, “Usually, it’s three to a room, so there’ll be one m-” Vanus was interrupted by a third person pushing open the door. The third member of the dorm entered looking down nervously at the floor, short curly hair hanging down, and a too-large grey cloak hanging down from his shoulders, “H-hey...I’m Kreth,” he said nervously. The name fit him poorly, Kreth was short for a boy, but seemed to be in better shape than both of the other two boys, but his grey cloak was large enough that it was difficult to tell. Vanus waved, “Hey, call me Vanus,” the third year student said easily. Phillip held out one hand, “I’m Phillip, the one everyone in the crowd earlier gasped about,” the prince introduced himself. Kreth shook Phillip’s hand firmly with surprisingly soft hands, “It’s nice to meet you both,” he said quietly. As the quiet boy looked up, Phillip noticed he had green eyes, flaked with what the young prince thought to be gold. Unlike the two other boys, who’d been brought to the Maha Dasta against their will, Kreth had come by choice, and had a bag to unpack, small though it was. He set the small soft leather bag down by the bed closest to the door. Then Vanus threw himself onto one of the two beds by the window with a soft thump, “This one’s mine,” he claimed, looking up towards the ceiling. Phillip moved over to the second bed next to the window before sitting down at the foot of the bed, “So...Kreth, where are you from?” the young prince asked. Kreth pushed his index fingers together nervously, “Oh, I-I’m from a small merchant family in the Western Province. We sold reagents for potions and alchemy for the most part. I applied here after my family was robbed by bandits and lost most of their money, so I came here to become a Lion Soldier and use the research and equipment funds to support them. Besides, if I join a Pride, I’d get to see the world…” he said softly. Phillip tilted his head to one side slightly, “A Pride? What’s that?” the young prince asked. Kreth stammered nervously, “W-well...it’s...uhm…” the young, curly haired boy said something too quietly for Phillip to understand. From his bed directly across from Phillip, Vanus explained, “It’s a group of Lion Soldiers, they usually operate in groups of seven, with two teams of three and a commander. They’ll usually send a Pride in as an advance team to a country that the Persian Military will invade to soften up the target country’s military. They often serve as assassins for the king, but each one is said to be trained well enough to defeat ten Spartans,” Phillip’s eyes widened in surprise, the Spartans were likely the most well trained warriors on the planet, and a single Lion Soldier was allegedly more dangerous than ten of them, “Whoa...That’s crazy!” Phillip exclaimed, “Just what do they teach here? I mean, I get they teach Praecantry, but it would take more than that to kill ten Spartans at once,” Vanus sat up in his bed, “They also teach armed and unarmed physical combat, alchemy, riding, sailing, and how to survive in the wild. There’s also a multitude of optional classes, like stealth, diplomacy, blacksmithing, and the medical arts,” the redhead explained, “Anyways, now that everyone has arrived, they’ll be pulling various people out to the arena to test their skills and determine whose class you’ll be in. The tests are meant to be tough, and they change every year. My first year here there was one about crossing a giant pit that had snakes at the bottom. There was a really cool one about stopping a charging bull last year. That one was pretty easy. I don’t know how much you know about Athenian entertainers, but most of us specialize in Illusion magic, and master fire to protect ourselves when we hit the road.” Phillip remembered hearing something like that, but couldn’t remember where, “Oh,” the prince said with a simple nod. Vanus opened his mouth to say something else, but a knock at the door interrupted him, the door opened slowly and a tall, fair-skinned man with a light beard stood in the doorway, a simple club hung at his waist, and he held a shield in one arm, “We’ll be testing the students in this dorm block now, the three of you are to come with me,” he said with routine ease. The three young students stood, and the young guard beckoned for them to follow, “Right this way children,” he said, “Stay close, I don’t want any of you three getting lost in here,” he added, “We had that happen once, the poor kid wasn’t found for a week,” the guard continued with a laugh. The group headed down the hall, passing other groups of three who were led by other guards. The boy Phillip knew to be Orion was led by a shorter guard with a large nose, along with two others. The red cloaked student glared at Phillip as he mouthed something in Persian, a taunt by the prince’s guess. The two groups came to a split in the hallway, and while Phillip and company went to the left, while Orion and his group headed off to the right. The guard came to a simple iron door and knocked twice. The door was opened by two other guards, “Off you go,” the guard who’d brought the group of three here said, gesturing inside. There room was actually a short hall, the iron doors behind them and another set of wooden ones on the other side. In between the two sets of double were three simple stools, Vanus sat down on the stool closest to the far door as the two iron doors swung shut with a loud metallic clang. Kreth jumped a little at the sound, and Phillip glanced about, feeling uneasy about being trapped in. Vanus on the other hand, looked perfectly relaxed, “Don’t worry, they’ll open the wooden ones in a second and call somebody inside in a second,” he said. As if on cue, the wooden doors opened a crack, and the old librarian, Kraen, who Phillip had met just a day earlier, poked his head out, “Vanus of the traveling family of Restej, enter,” the redheaded third year student stood up, “Well, looks like I’m up first. See you two later,” he said easily before entering. The wooden door shut behind him with a loud thud, leaving Kreth and the young Prince alone in the short hallway. The room was filled with a rather awkward silence, as the two didn’t really know what to say to one another, “You said you wanted to see the world, where did you want to go?” Phillip asked, more to break the silence than of an actual desire to know. The nervous boy pressed his fingers together shyly, “Uhm...I was thinking Greece, but I’ve heard Egypt is really beautiful, so I might go there,” he said. Phillip nodded, “Oh, cool. I’ve been to Greece,” the prince responded, leaning back slightly on his stool. Kreth’s eyes gleamed with a sudden excitement, “Really?! What’s it like?!” he asked, the shyness that typically floated about him gone. Phillip smiled, “It’s really amazing, there these massive temples, and there’s more marble than anyone should ever have. Each of the city-states have their own style of building, and they differ drastically from one to the next, I’m sure you’d love it,” Phillip went on explaining what Greece was like for what felt like a couple hours before the door opened and the old librarian poked his head out of the door and called Phillip in. The young prince stood up, “I’ll see you later, I guess,” Kreth said with a small wave. Phillip nodded, “Yeah,” he said before he entered, the door closing behind him with a heavy thump. The room inside was larger than Phillip would have expected, and had a floor made out of what appeared to be sandstone. At the far end of the room there was another door, and on the two other sides were two large tables, a few simple weapons lying on each. On the table to his left sat a few different swords, a bow with a quiver of arrows, a long, flat headed spear, two different axes, and a large war-hammer. To his right, the weapons were of a different variety, Praecantor’s tools, to be exact. While Praecantry could be channeled through any given object, certain things were better than others, various gems and different types of wood being the best. The old librarian, Kraen, spoke, his gravelly voice sounding somewhat strange in the large room, “The easiest way to test your skills is by putting them to the test. You’ll have two pre-selected opponents to face, there is no time limit, I’d advise taking something from one of the tables,” he said with a shrug, “There’ll be other tests today as well, so don’t worry if combat Praecantry isn’t your forte,” Phillip turned to the table to his right, knowing that his lack of physical strength made Praecantry his best bet as a weapon. Striding swiftly over, the prince took a look at the options presented to him, and reviewed what he knew of Praecantry in his head. There were three simple rods, made of Oak, Birch, and Olive woods, and tipped with Ruby, Amethyst, and Jade respectively. Additionally, there were three long staves, made of Oak, Birch, and a black wood that Phillip believed to be Ebony. The third staff appealed to him somehow, the long and simple black shaft of wood was tipped with a pointed shard of Sapphire, which seemed to grow out from the wood of the staff like a branch from a tree. Taking the staff up in his hand, the young prince was surprised by the weight of the smooth wooden staff, it was heavier than he’d thought it would be, though it was very much to his liking. Phillip planted the bottom of the staff onto the ground, causing a thunk that reverberated around the room, “I’m ready,” he said, sounding far more confident than he actually felt. He worried about who’d be coming out of the other door, for all he knew, it could be the King of Persia himself. Phillip moved to stand by the door he’d came in from, and just when he came to that spot, the far door creaked open.
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