The bells of war were ringing, and Korun saw black sails on the horizon.
Fear gripped his form. He had run from Triedhart to escape the life of a soldier, to be free from the burden that came from serving a city. He was a foreigner here still, a stranger who had sailed in at the start of this season. He doubted that anyone would hold it against him for not fighting for Ne'haer's freedom; a idea that was bought with his blood and his sweat among many. He could be like the rest of his kind, holed up behind their icy walls and waiting for war to blow over. 'Not their city, not their problem,' had been the collective sentiment of the Ellune.
Yet, here he stood, waiting to board a ship and sail out in defense of a city he hardly knew. Cold winds whipped against his bare chest as he stood on the docks, weighing his options. He could still turn back, still take the craven's path and hide with the rest of his brethern. But the idea of running made Korun's blood boil. He was so damn tired of running. Running from his father to become an artist. Running from his family to escape their scorn. Running from Triedhart to escape accusation. Korun wouldn't run anymore. He would stand, and if need be, fight for Ne'haer. Because, if nothing else, the city allowed him to choose. It gave him a choice whether to fight or flee. More than that, it didn't even force him to choose who to fight for or what to be. He could choose to be sculptor and soldier, and it would be his choice and no one else's.
The thought made Korun smile despite the fear he still felt. Ne'haer was not his city, but, if it would have him, he would like it to be.
A distressed word had managed to make that smile disappear. Korun's Common was not very good, but even in Triedhart they made sure they learned certain words for their own safety. The Ellune frantically searched the horizon, but the ships were still too far out to make any detail clear. Bowling past others, he places a giant, rough hand on the man who had spoken. With deadly seriousness, Korun glared down at him. He pointed towards the black-sailed ships cutting through the sea.
"What that?!" he demanded in his limited speech. The man looked alarmed and confused. Growling, Korun shook his head in frustration. "Ne'haer," he said, pointing to a ship still docked at the port. "What that?" he asked again, pointing out to the billowing black sails of the oncoming ship.
"Oh! That belongs to the Naerikk, Can't believe Bayward put in with those Audrae worshiping bitches."
Korun had taken off running before the man managed to finish. No matter the location or the language, every son and daughter of Tried knew the name of their hated enemies. And now they were here, bearing down to take the city which Korun had grown to love. He would not allow it. Even if he had to tear their ships apart nail by nail, plank by plank, he would be thrice-damned before any daughter of Audrae stepped foot in this city. Fury replacing fear, Korun stormed off towards where his fellow Ellune had hidden themselves.
Oscillette's icy walls and closed gates stood proudly before him. To any other refugee seeking shelter, the gates would have remained closed, but for Korun, a fellow Ellune, they opened swiftly. The halls of the little kingdom were nearly empty, save for a few Ellune preparing additional defenses just in case the Bayward forces made it as far as their keep. They shot concerned looks at Korun as he blew past them, a dark anger evident in the youth's flashing eyes. He heard concerned, clamoring voices erupt from behind a set of sturdy doors. Forcing them open, Korun saw before him a collection of what little fighting forces had been gathered to protect their icy home. They were gathered in what looked like an imitation of the elder council that ruled in Triedhart. A long, icy table stretched before a well and rows of seats. In the seats sat the Ellune who had no political sway, and in the chairs the Ellune who were either the eldest or the most respected. At their head, Baelam Sheulai qalar-Treid. The Ice King of the West, holding court in an attempt to better defend against the outside world.
Korun's entrance was a surprise, and their voices quieted a little to observe who had interrupted their meeting. Korun opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by the elder man's raised hand. Baelam shot him a measured look, and despite all the admiration Korun had for the man, the young Ellune felt a bubble of disgust rise in his throat. He marched down before the reagent, shoving aside other Ellune who had attempted to reel back the angry youth.
"Do not ignore me Baelam!" Korun shouted at the ruler, now standing before the table of Elders. That had gained the alarmed stares of the entire court, as such a breach of etiquette was very uncommon in Ellunian political discourse. Baelam's even gaze shifted into a disapproving glare.
"We've discussed this Korun. You may wish to fight, but we have decided to-"
"Damn your decisions!" Korun yelled again, interrupting the ruler's words. The youth didn't care anymore about the proper social etiquette or the polite discourse that his kind was known for. He didn't have time for politeness, and neither did Ne'haer. "While you sit, hiding from battle, Augiery sails against Ne'haer.
AUGIERY! A city filled with Naerikk and Audrae worshipers comes ready to bleed this city, bleed out our neighbors and even us if they get the chance. We cannot afford to hide!"
A shocked quiet settled in over the court, and Korun could see Baelam quietly seethe as he mulled over the idea. Korun knew Baelam to be cautious, knew him to be a good and fair ruler, but the youth also knew the longer they waited the closer the Naerikk came to the city. War was no time for caution, but Baelam wouldn't understand that. He was a merchant, a trader with a good head for business. However, he was no soldier. And no matter how much he wanted to deny it, Korun was a soldier. At least, a part of him was. It was that part off him which drove him to confront Baelam now, and Korun hoped it would be that part of him which would gain allies among his race.
An elder, with Baelam's permission, rose to speak. "There is no guarantee that the Bayward, or even these 'supposed' Naerikk, will even reach the inner city. This is not our fight, it is Ne'haer's. If we take a side and Bayward wins, what will become of us? Do not through the lives of our kin away based on brash emotion!"
"'Not our fight', do you
hear yourself speak?! This has never been more of our fight! We are the children of Treid, and the daughters of Audrae are now rattling swords at our doorstep. And it is our doorstep! How we can claim 'this is not our fight' when we live in the city that is being sieged? We might like to pretend this is our own little slice of Oscillus, that if we close the doors the Hotlands disappear and we're back in our frozen home, but we belong as much to Ne'haer as we do to Oscillus. More even! The air we breathe belongs to Ne'haer. The ground we walk belongs to Ne'haer. We. Belong. To Ne'haer. And I will not allow our neighbors to be slaughtered and enslaved by our oldest of enemies. Even if you will."
"Who are you to-"
"I AM KORUN NOVAR QUALAR-TREID, FIRST-BORN SON OF THE NOVAR FAMILY AND SUBLIMATOR TO TREIDHART, AND I TIRE OF YOUR COWARDICE!" Korun raged at the elder, surprised at the breadth of his own anger. The air hung still in the council room, the elder who had rose to question Korun sitting down in shocked silence. Baelam's disapproving glare was the only constant emotion in that room. He stared back into those imperious eyes, challenging the king every step of the way. Korun knew that he was out of line, that he had gone a step to far, but he didn't care anymore. If the man he had grown to respect so much was disapproved of his actions, so be it. Korun was used to disappointing old Ellune.
Tapping into Nilas, Korun forced frost to fly from his fingers. The icy blue of a sword took solid form in the charcoal that was the young Ellune's hand. It was a rough shape, not up to Korun's usual standards of beauty in sculptures. However, he was fine with that. War was rarely beautiful. Slamming the sword down into the wood of the floor, Korun watched as the object fractured slightly along the blade. The weapon was fragile, but it held its shape as it stuck point-first into the ground.
"In case you all forgot, that is what a blade looks like," Korun turned from the Elders and addressed the audience of Ellune directly. "Audrae is invading this city. If you wish to fight for Treid, meet me at the gates."
Korun did not look to see if any of his race tailed after him. As he rushed down the hall to his room, his mind was elsewhere. He opened the trunk which sat at the foot of his bed, and saw the gleaming object within. Ice armor, imbued with Tienite and fringed with white fur, glowed softly as the youth strapped the gear on. The armor marked him as a Novar; a Sublimator in Treid's army. He hadn't touched the gift since he escaped Oscillus, as he felt he didn't belong to his own family anymore. Today, however, fighting against the Naerikk and for his neighbors, Korun felt more a son of his father than ever before. For one day, at least, he would be a Novar again.
Armor retrieved, Korun moved through the halls of Oscilette with quiet determination. Despite being a soldier again, the youth felt whole. Given purpose. Perhaps it was because he was fighting for something he believed in, instead of what his father did, but Korun felt a drive to succeed like he had never felt as a Sublimator in Treidhart. Approaching the gates of the little kingdom, Korun knew not how many, if any at all, were stirred to action by his outburst. He hoped for allies in this fight, but if there were no other Ellune, he would find a way to manage. If he had to storm the Naerikks' ships himself, he would make them pay for what their mother did to his god.