YoTS: Lord January ~ Prologue!

Prologue

Random Messenger Number Six stopped for a moment, hands braced upon his knees, ragged breaths entered his lungs as he looked for the courage to carry on. Pain made him focus, just enough that the whine of an incoming elemental spell didn’t distract him from his objective. His gaze flashed over the area, a massive tundra that had once had flowers and small but powerful monsters running around.

All that remained was mud, blood, and the sharp tang of ozone from the lightning spells that flashed through the area. No one would come to the rescue of the few cultivators that were still groaning in pain, not this far out in no man’s land. They were left where they fell, desperately hoping that a stray spell would give them an honorable - a quick - death.

The messenger’s eyes landed on his destination, still a distant and dangerous target. A red tent dominated the crown of a shallow hill in the distance. Rings of smaller shelters and a swarm of campfires crowded the space around it, practically leaning toward the scant protection the command center afforded them. With a deep breath, the messenger found a hidden reserve of energy and started running once more. Slick mud made the journey treacherous; the faster he ran, the more the mud clawed at him, trying to drag him down into its warm embrace. Still, he couldn’t stop: the message must get through. He could end this war of god-like cultivators if he could just get there.

Streaks of blue-white light arced across the night sky, similar to the streaks of tears that ran down his own face. Even at this distance, the thud of the artillery spells as they connected with the ground shook his weary bones. The messenger sprinted onward, muttering a mantra of, “It’ll all be over soon. I’ll be a hero!”

A glowing white flag emblazoned with the sigil of a royal messenger floated above his head and provided some comfort; along with a much-needed pool of soft light to guide the way across the sea of mud, bodies, and shattered equipment. The command tent was the last bastion of Lord December and his army. Despite being the most powerful Wielder in the world, and the Regent of the Calendar, he was no Calendar King. No matter how much he acted like it, or wanted the power. His latest grasp at power had led to this moment, a world-wide war where December was assaulted from all sides by the eleven other Lords of the Month.

Their beacons soared towards the heavens from wherever they waited in their own outposts, solid pillars of colored light spanning all the colors of the rainbow. Only the frosty white beacon that represented Regent December’s power was hidden from view. After what seemed like an age, the messenger stumbled to the perimeter of the camp, and was met with a sword to the throat before he could blink. The cultivator on duty glanced up at his flag and nodded, retracting his sword and moving aside to allow him passage after searching him for hidden weapons.

The messenger stepped through the makeshift gate, and the world became brighter than a thousand suns.

In the space of a heartbeat, the guard that had stopped him turned to ash. Air turned to plasma, and the ground beneath was vaporised along with everything else within a ten-foot radius. The shell-shocked messenger landed fifty feet away, blinded, ears ringing. Only the protective shield provided by the white flag stopped him sharing the fate of the guard, but blood still dripped into his eyes as he staggered to his feet.

Anyone watching would have witnessed a silhouette momentarily floating in a sphere of incandescent light before it was catapulted across the camp. Random Messenger Number Six came around quickly, shaking off the confusion and searing pain from his fuzzy head. The light of the artillery spell still clouded his vision, but at least he could see enough to finish his task.

He hobbled toward the command tent that stood pristine amongst the maelstrom, pulling back the heavy tent flap before crossing the threshold. Outside of this space: war raged, the iron tang of blood assaulted the nostrils, and artillery spells were slapped back and forth in a godlike game of catch. Wielders and cultivators alike hastily cast spells protecting the camp from the intensifying volley, rushing to fill gaps where searing magic spilled across the ground, engulfing random soldiers or wielders in liquid fire.

Inside… the lack of sensory stimulation assaulted him and he nearly passed out from the relief that flowed through him. He felt transported to an entirely different world

Equidistant globes floated at head height, filling the cavernous tent with a soft glow. Dense, intricately patterned rugs carpeted the floor. He felt guilty dragging mud across it, but as he stepped towards the lone figure sitting cross legged in meditation, the rug somehow remained pristine. Even as a war was coming to an end, mana was being devoted to cleaning spells? Random Messenger Number Six shook his head at the games those in power tended to play for no real reason.

The walk seemed to take an age, and his eyes darted from one treasure to another. Piles of scrolls littered an enormous oak table, along with a map. He gasped aloud as he saw the map. It was a living map. Small dots moved around, along with streaks of light that crossed it in an instant; obviously artillery spells. The colored pillars of light that represented the other Lords and Ladies were quickly closing the distance towards the camp at the center of the map.

They didn’t appear to be converging on the command tent, but another location nearby. As he passed, he couldn’t help but stare a little too long at the mound of scrolls. The top one glowed and a summarised projection appeared above, framed in purple:

Quantum Computations of Astral Projection - Level IX. Prerequisites: Quantum Computations of Astral Projection - Level VIII Astral Primer.

His eyes darted away. It was forbidden - and more so life threateningly dangerous - to read scrolls and spells above one's level. He was just a lowly messenger. The only magical abilities he had been granted were to renew the messenger’s spell of protection - an auto-identification spell that had to be cast on him - and a passively enhanced level of stamina.

Tearing himself away from his thoughts, he crossed the distance and stood a respectful distance away from the kimono-clad figure sitting in a lotus position. “Random Messenger Number Six, Regent December. Here to deliver a message from the Lords and Ladies of the Month.”

Like the living map and the scrolls, he struggled to tear his eyes away from the deceptively simple katana with an unadorned ivory handle lying on Regent December’s lap. An informative projection started to appear, he slammed his eyes shut. As much as he wanted to learn about the Regent’s fabled Wielded Weapon, December First, he didn’t particularly care for the idea of being sliced in half for his audacity! The messenger had heard about this weapon. All the Lords had their unique weapons of power; Wielded Weapons that focused and channeled their magical abilities beyond what any other cultivator could hope to achieve.

Regent December sat motionless, either unaware - or unconcerned - with the disturbance. After several minutes waiting patiently for a reply that did not arrive, the messenger cleared his throat and continued. “I now speak the decree of the Lords and Ladies of the Month.”

His voice changed as he accessed the confidential message, and eleven voices spoke as one. “The war is over, Regent December. In our infinite wisdom, we have formed an alliance to dethrone you. It has been decided that it is for the best that you stand down as Calendar Regent. We do not believe in the threat you claim to protect us from. We will be waiting at the Stone Circle for you to peacefully relinquish your stolen crown and Wielded Weapon. Enough blood has been shed. For abusing your power and the trust of the people, you will be exiled from this land.”

Clenching the hilt of the katana with knuckles as white as the ivory hilt, Regent December’s eyes shot open. A pillar of eye-searingly pure white light engulfed him as his power was unleashed and his beacon was lit. “Message received, Random Messenger Number Six. I shall give them my answer… personally.”

He turned to face the messenger, who then started leaking fluids from several places. With an amused smile, the Regent calmed the too-young man down, “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to destroy you for this. I never kill the messenger. If you have somewhere you want to return… I suggest you run.”

With that, Regent December took a step out of existence, and a pillar of white light slammed into the center of the Stone Circle that was fully surrounded by the Lords and Ladies of the Month. Regent December emerged from the light, then bowed before his unimpressed audience. “Thank you for meeting me here… my old friends.”

“We have all had enough of you and your prophetic tales,” the Lord of March snapped, slamming the end of his scepter onto the stone floor. “The power you have been hoarding should be used for the benefit of all the people. I hope you came here to surrender, December. Not for me, but for my people. They have begun rebelling, their lives militarized for too long. They want to relax for nearly the first time in over half a generation. As for me… I believed in you, once upon a time. Killing you would bring me no pleasure.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Truly, I am.” Regent December looked at the Nobles surrounding him and shook his head slowly, refusing to relax. “But I have explained my reasoning. I don’t do this for myself… but for the people. The fate of the world depends on it.”

“So. You. Say.” Lord January drew a sword that matched December’s in simplicity of design, yet being a mirror, a twin, of the Regent’s own. Holding his sword forward in a guarding stance, he edged forward. “Twelve years have passed since you were appointed Regent. The cycle of twelve, and the prophecy didn’t come to pass. We want freedom. Starvation is overtaking my lands!”

“No, my fine Lord January. All you want is to wield my power, and then hide it away so that you can live in luxury. I wish that we all could do the same, and I would freely give the power away if I could… but the threat is too great. Work with me. The time of change is at hand!” December’s rousing speech was met only with silence or scoffing.

Lady August stepped forward, “We will not warn you again. Leave your Wielded Weapon here, and we will allow you to go into exile. Leave now, and you can even keep your kimono.”

“I’m afraid…” A few of the Lords laughed mockingly at the Regent’s admission. All took a step toward him, Wielded Weapons outstretched and crackling with energy. December looked around and swallowed, quietly finishing his words, “…that you leave me no choice.”

Before the powerful cultivators had a chance to make a move, he sliced the palm of his hand and smeared the blood along the length of the katana’s simple blade. Realising the threat, coruscated beams of vibrantly colored energy shot towards him from each and every one of the Lords’ and Ladies’ weapons. Each magically infused beam held enough power to level a city, and together they would end this dictator once and for all.

Or so they thought.

Time slowed as Regent December began to Blade Dance. The katana’s edge sliced through the air. As it passed, it left behind a thread of magic imperceptible to those untrained in Spatial magics. The simple form of the katana shed its basic form seemingly becoming a shard of purest ice. It eagerly drank the magic seeping from the gaping wound in the Regent’s hand, transforming it into a complex network of threads and filaments. In the space between heartbeats, a glowing structure began to emerge: a spell form from a bygone age, not seen even during the darkest part of the Wielder Wars.

Acutely aware of the incoming beams of light bearing down upon him despite his warping of space time, December made the final touch to the first sphere. He then spun his blade furiously, funnelling the Lord of January’s yellow magic into the chamber he had created.

Saturated light flowed through the once-fine filaments, giving them new-found strength and solidity. The dance continued. He leapt and spun, avoiding the writhing beams of light while adding new levels of complexity to the framework. Orange, then red, were captured in quick succession; and became no more than angry buzzing fireflies bottled safely away.

The Lords couldn’t begin to imagine what Regent December was working on. As far as they knew, as they were moving through time normally, he had been blasted to pieces by the combined might of eleven Lords of the Months.

Once the red light was captured, the construct was visible as a three-dimensional structure. The Regent winced in pain as violet light struck him from behind; thankfully only a glancing blow.

He wrote a series of symbols in the air, grinning to himself as the violet light reflected off the shimmering surfaces and looped back upon itself. With four powers captured, control of time and spatial magics became… easier. December sped everything in the sphere to the point that the outside world appeared to have paused. Now working with all the time he would ever need, he calmly captured the remaining spectral frequencies and worked on fine tuning each of the elements for what would have been days in the normal world; adding support structures, backup mechanisms, wards, and shields.

Finally, his masterpiece was complete, and time returned to normal. The Lords and Ladies appeared perplexed. They still stood in a circle, together yet apart, and expected to see - at most - a pile of ash where Regent December had once stood. Instead, each was now separated by a wall of shimmering light spreading from Regent December and travelling as far as their eyes could see.

“What have you done?” Lord June bellowed, attacking the barrier only once before knowing that it was futile.

“I did what had to be done. For all of us!” With that statement and a forceful downward stroke, December severed the remaining filament; the one grounding the dimensional spell-construct to this reality. The last of his pure white magic pulsed within this new creation, beating as if alive. The beacons were gone, and the world had been split into twelve equal districts; separated by a shimmering curtain of light that spanned the poles of the world.

Ignoring the raging, the screaming, the realization of power lost… December turned away. He was weakened, all of them would remain this way until the barrier itself fell, but he had enough power to do what must be done. The Lords and Ladies of the Month were wrong. He knew they were wrong.

The prophecy was beginning... and Regent December had work to do.