Becoming Legend

Floor to ceiling windows fixed inside a small chamber. Above this window was another rosewood panels that absorb the morning sun, which helped the ivory fixed chamber be brought in brightness.

Inside this circular chamber, cages of chirping birds rambled the narrowed room. Birds that consists of pure white-feathered, helped its tamer to scout short distances. Besides the iron cage of this white feathered bird was another cage, larger and sturdier. Inside this sturdy cage was a brown bird lined with black feathers. Its features—with strong and delicate leg muscles, and slightly longer talons—shows that this brown bird was used for an assault midair.

This ivory chamber houses different kinds of birds, from rare ones, tamed one's, and messenger ones. Messenger birds were small, almost double the human fists size, their wings spanned longer than their body.

The man with white hair and wrinkled face wore a sagging white robe, sagging the same as his facial hair that reached almost his chest. This old man had been doing the same routine for longer he could remember; checking the messenger birds that kept on sprouting on a small pocket—square pocket-hole outlined with hardwood.

The ivory chamber was narrow enough for the old man to move while limping. And this pocket, where the old man stood, was the only way for the messenger birds to go in and out of the white room.

It was early in the morning, early for the people of the castle to get off their beds, but not for this old man. With a chirping sound, the man caught the messenger bird that landed on the pocket. Loosen a piece of paper tied on its feet and let the bird flew, the man then put the rolled paper into a wooden bowl.

The sun just rose, the bird just flew, yet another messenger bird carrying a piece of torn paper—rolled and tied on its foot—landed.

This was the eleventh messenger bird, and it wasn't noon.

The old man caught the obeying bird, brushed the top of its head, and loosen the piece of torn paper.

The man gets a hold of the paper. He muttered some words then let the messenger bird flew the blue sky to rest.

His wrinkled brows knitted as he notices the piece of paper to be different from the rest. Small, torn—like it was made in such a hurry and sealed. Wasn't just an ordinary seal. Neatly stamped to keep the scribbles well preserved.

The old man saw different seals every day, some came from different Houses, sometimes from Great Houses, but oftentimes from lesser Houses, merchants, and scholars. But the seal, the messenger bird brought wasn't ordinary. This kind of seal only the old man saw once or twice a year was used.

A seal only the king was allowed to open.

The old man hurried to the assembly room, where he presumed the reigning king would be. He ran like a wild mongrel, holding his sagging robe to prevent himself from dropping.

The old man mazed the castle left and right, servants stepped aside and bowed as soon as they saw the rushing old man. Even royal soldiers bowed. He ran and waved his hand to acknowledge the servants and soldiers.

He stopped before a sleek iron door. Knocked twice. Caught his breath. Straighten his aching back. And waited for the king's command.

The assembly hall was filled with—nothing. No ornaments, no hanging weapons, no cabinets for sorting. Aside from the only circular table and chairs. There was nothing. Whitened glass window with no intricate designs circled the hall. At the center of the circular table was a stone. The only decorative available, a dull stone.

"We should tax the Outer Dominance," said the plump man in a robe. His robe was delicately engraved with shining stones as well as his awkward hat. "Those in slumps must learn their lessons!"

"Tax them and what?" This time a man wearing a gloss armor covering his hefty body spoke. His aging hair was styled neatly. "Incite another rebellion? You merchants only saw them as gold mine!"

Their voices echoed as if they were in mountain ranges.

The man seating in the middle waved a hand. And a spark of dominance overwhelmed the room. Twelve council members fell to silence as they sat in a circular table with discharged faces.

King Arthurius Roland Pendragoon. The reigning King, and the only King with guts to lead the Griffith Kingdom. His stiff and white front jacket appeared to button all the way up to a rigid collar. The white trouser fit snugly and fell straight around the calves.

While there was a shirt, it was completely obscured by the large stiff jacket—which had a military shoulder fitting. It has an array of metallic buttons, as well as a shield design over the right breast—a crowned dragon embracing a broken shield. All this to highlight his brown neatly tied hair.

"Birkitt,"  the king said. It wasn't just the air filled with dominance—even his voice. He was commanding the man on the left side of the table.

"My king," a scholarly man stood, not later in his thirties, and leaned forward, his head was almost reaching the hardwood. He then sat, waiting for another command from his king.

"The Selection?" King Arthur said, resting his head on his hand as if the assembly was another waste of his time.

"So far," Birkitt said. Turning pages of the documents he himself brought. "According to reports, it went well. We've recruited thousands of new recruits. Only the recruits of the Royal Knights will be sent to the Griffith Academy. The rest, they can choose. But—"

"But?" the king said. Raising his head. He was the king, and 'buts' means a hindrance to his time. And a hindrance to his time was a hindrance to the Kingdom.

Birkitt stiffened. He wondered if he should continue. But since he started, he must at least, lessen the disappointments of the king. "But," he said. "Recruits from the outer continent hasn't arrived yet. Especially from Scattered Bays, and some parts of Titan's Cay. Lately, we've noticed movements in Titan's Cay, that must be the reason for the delay, my king. "

King Arthurius waved a dismissive hand. "Focus your attention inside the kingdom. Leave the outer recruitments. If they come, they come. If not, the kingdom will stand without them. Make sure to recruit for Griffith Academy."

"Yes, my King," Birkitt said. Bowing and ending his report.

"Kilic," King Arthurius called. Pertaining to a man at his right. Sitting in-between the merchant representative and a bald man.

Kilic wore a white robe, but if a man studied his face, it showed a speck of ashes sitting under his brows, that he himself wasn't aware of. "My King," he said. His voice wasn't a charm.

"The mine?" the king asked.

"Mana Stones were mined according to your liking, my King," Kilic said, looking at the king's eyes. Maybe the only man in the assembly to look at the king in his eyes.

"Good," the king said. "Merchant, send Mana Stones to Great Houses accordingly, but this time. Make the prices doubled. That will—"

"But," the plump man said. It was the merchant. Now he regretted that he interrupted the king in his talk. He wished he kept his mouth shut. If ever he lived this time.

King Arthurius raised an eyebrow, the assembly went silent. Wasn't the usual silent. The silence made them trembled. Everybody looked at the plump man. Etching to hack him to pieces if the right time arrived.

"Interrupt me again, and I will make sure, the people will forget your House."

The merchant stood and bowed touching the wooden table. Sweat ran through his plump cheeks. His lips quivered. "Yes my Lord, Mana Stones prices will be doubled. I will see to it, my Lord."

The king waved a hand. And the merchant sighed a breath of relief. "This will make the Great Houses heed my commands. This is the only way to control them. But," he paused. "I'm actually itching to see the Houses at war. Priest."

The bald man next to Kilic stood. The white robe hung his stiff shoulders. "King," he said.

"How many religions you have left?" the king said asking. His eyes looked dismayed looking at the dull stone in the center. "Asashil is not working with them anymore, we need something that will control the Outer Dominance."

"I will make new religion my King," the priests said smirking. "For now, I will see to it if—"

A knock stopped the priest. This time, everyone stiffened once more. Their eyes were showered with fear. 'What kind of an idiot knocked during the King's assembly' was what their eyes were showing. Even King Arthurius sharp brown eyes. But it calmed hearing the old man's voice behind the sleek iron door.

"King Roland," the old man behind the door said. The only person in the kingdom brave enough to knock during King's assembly and the only person brave enough to call the king as Roland.

King Arthurius waved a dismissive hand, and the rest of the assembly came to halt. Twelve of the council members stood, bowed, and left the assembly hall in steady footsteps, making sure to not make unnecessary noise.

On their way out, each of the council members bowed with great respect to the old man standing beside the door.

"My King," Birkitt—the last one out—said, then pulled the door slightly shut.

The door wedge open, and the old man entered with a complex expression. He shut the door. Gestured a hand, muttered, then blue light surrounded the chamber. Moments later the blue light went invisible.

King Arthurius went tucking deep into the plush chair. His jacket went stiffed as he sunk himself under the circular table with a complex expression. "Ahhh!" he said. "Those council members, giving me a hard time. Could they just decide without me? Especially that merchant, that plump man. When will he show respect to their king? Old man Cadoc, you save me again. And that 'Silencing Magic' really came in handy."

"Ah, King," Cadoc said. Revealing his hands tucked inside his front pocket. "Jeras will always be like that, he's just making sure his House survives."

"Yeah," King Arthurius said. His air of dominance, gone. What remained was his laxing attitude. "Anyway, what brought my survivor here that he so much intervened with the council meeting?"

"This," Cadoc said. Handing the piece of paper sealed with red wax.

King Arthurius pulled himself up against his tucking position and reached for the paper. His eyebrows knitted as he examined the paper. "Godefroy," he muttered. "It's mana sealed. Old man." Handing the paper, back to Cadoc.

Cadoc reached and injected mana into the seal. The red wax seal then melted and the rolled paper exposed a blank sheet. Cadoc then injected another mana, the blank piece of paper revealed writings with blue light shining. "My King," he said, handing back the piece of paper without reading it.

King Arthurius frowned reading the paper. Sometimes he scoffed but mostly frowned. "It's time," he said. "You were right uncle."

"It's really them?" Cadoc asked, somewhat surprised. "Let's just hope Godefroy is fine. If we're informed, I'm sure the Order was informed as well." He saw his nephew's complex expression. "What else child?"

"Old man," King Arthurius whispered. "A gate has opened."

"So?" Cadoc remarked. "We've been clearing gates these past months. Appearing Gate isn't new."

"Not just a gate," he said. "It's... Otherworldly."

"By the Maker!" Cadoc cried ashenly. "Where?!"

King Arthurius stretched his left hand, pulled the jacket that hid the strange lines embed under his wrist. Dusk yellow reflected off these strange lines. The King gazed these lines with deep emotions and said. "O'rriadt."