Fan Fiction ❯ Swordian ❯ Proem ( Chapter 1 )

Proem

 

He writes on a clean sheet of white paper with blue ink and feather pen,

 

“I am Prince Sean Nicholas, Son and Heir of King Robert Nicholas of Verardo. I graduated in the only Swordian Sorcery School of Mnechila by the age of seventeen, three years earlier than customary despite the fact that I started a year late. I finished fourth in my batch, first in Swordian Sorcery and with the Exceptional Student Award after proposing the incorporation of Adyin, a substance used for long term invisibility spells in Swordian sheaths to achieve efficient cloaking of swords. I am actually the reason why all Swordians including Knights and Sorcerers are capable of cloaking their swords at ease. It's very simple really… the principle behind it. It's just that Adyin though not usually used for cloaking, is very compatible to Cirra, the impurity of all matter that is excavated from The Fount.

 

Moving on, I am currently High Swordian Sorcerer but on my way to becoming Master Swordian Sorcerer with specialization on Elementals, Curses and Anti-Curses, Medicinal Sorcery and Animal Sorcery. I am more known as Scein, a name brought about by erroneous pronunciation and orthography. I have learned to favor this alias for it gives me mystic. I stand six feet tall and I have thick, rather wavy mahogany hair complemented by my narrow crimson eyes.

 

Everything began in Yldiza where the oldest Swordian Knight Academy stood high and mighty before me, the author of this tale.” He lifts his feather pen and pauses. He reads what he just wrote.

 

“What is that?” She comes out of nowhere and sits beside him.

 

He looks up to her without a word.

 

She leans over and reads it.

 

He moves back to let her have a better view. He waits for her assessment.

 

She frowns. “It's too serious… too arrogant… too knowledgeable…” She takes his feather pen and crosses out everything he wrote.

 

“I suppose you can do better!”

 

She raises her left brow. She smirks and writes her own,

 

“Hey! I'm Ether, Ethereal Angelus but Ether would be fine. Well my father is the greatest Swordian Sorcerer of all time (in my opinion and many others) Ptolemy Angelus if you really need to know. Only he isn't my real father. It's a very long story nevertheless he raised me as his own since I was an infant so he is my father. Anyway, I'm a Swordian Knight but don't do calling me Dame Ether for I swear I will break you. So again just call me Ether, nothing more nothing less. I didn't graduate with degrees though because I didn't graduate at all. Sure I've been in and out the Academy. Heck! I live in one but I never cared much about studying. It is too boring. Don't get me wrong because I'm a full pledged Swordian Knight. You see once you reach into The Fount and grab a sphere. There's no turning back. You become a Swordian Knight by destiny with or without the proper education. Obviously my case is the later to my father's dismay.

 

I'm five feet six inches and taller than most women I know. My eyes are cerulean (beautiful!) and my hair color depends on my mood and resources. What do I mean? You see I color it constantly. I've tried lots of colors and my quite pale complexion makes me look great whatever color I choose. Right now, it is purple and hell it was so hard to get this color. I mean twenty thousand snails were soaked for ten days to get just an ounce of the dye. The result though is gorgeous and worth the long wait and high price.

 

So where was I? Ah! Yes. Yldiza is my hometown. I grew up in the Swordian Knight Academy. Funny, how I became the delinquent that I am, despite being raised inside such a prestigious school. I don't know either. Going back, thinking of Yldiza gives me nostalgia. My memories of Yldiza are all wonderful…

 

Scein is not the only author of this tale for this story would not be complete without me.” She smiles triumphantly as she holds the piece of paper before his face.

 

He snatches it and reads.

 

She does not see his reaction as the page wholly hid his face. “Well…” she says impatiently.

 

He puts the piece down and makes a face, “Too rambunctious… too informal… too personal… too detailed…” he stopped to think of other words.

 

She scowls at him. “Give it here!”

 

“No.”

 

“Scein!”

 

“Ether!”

 

They pull at opposite ends of the tattered piece of paper. They continue this frantic tug-of-war until it rips into two.

 

“This is all your fault.” She screams, allowing the torn article slip from her hand.

 

“My fault?” he snaps.

 

“Here.” An old man comes between them and hands a parchment with something written on it.

 

They read it silently, “This is their story, Scein and Ether. It is worth reading so please do.”