Chapter 4

Prince Laverne didn't take anything with him. All he had was the nightgown on his back and his thoughts. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got there. He ran through the darkness, pushing himself to run faster. The soles of his feet hit the cobblestone road with pat-pat-pat. It was almost a gray noise. It was bright tonight from the fire in the city. Some of the elves had decided to fight back, using anything they could find to bludgeon the soldiers. Elves were hard to kill with all their natural advantages, though that didn't mean they couldn't be killed.

Laverne was so wrapped up in his mission to save Valka that he didn't feel his foot slide into a massive crack in the stone streets. Next thing he knew, he was face down on the ground.

Laverne recollected himself, making sure his foot was alright before slowly standing once more. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of something glowing brilliant gold stuck in the ground a few meters away. Laverne sauntered over to it.

It cannot be.

Sticking out of a rock, was sitting a legendary sword. Firestarter. It belonged to Valka some time ago, however it went missing. Valka just assumed it'd been stolen and didn't make it a top priority to look for. He once told Laverne when he was young that it was a blade that burned with the fire of a million suns and that it could cut through anything but the sheath that was created specifically to keep Firestarter's power in check.

What is it doing here? Who brought it here?

Laverne looked at the sword, grasping the hilt. It had a golden hilt and blade. The blade was inscribed with Elvish rune symbols that read, “Lionheart”. Laverne had always liked that it said his name. Laverne's name was the Elvish word for Lionheart. Laverne attempted to lift the sword. It didn't budge. What the-Why is it so extraordinarily heavy?! I do not think even Daylight weighs a fraction of this!

Laverne spent virtually ten minutes trying to pull the sword out to no avail. Until Laverne positioned himself, standing on the guard of the sword and made an effort to pull it out of the ground that way. He felt it shift and to Laverne's surprise, he fell off, taking the blade with him. The sword clattered above Laverne's head as he landed on his butt. Laverne grabbed it and began walking once more, having to drag Firestarter behind him, using both hands. Firestarter left a deep, permanent line in the stone road wherever it was towed.

A fond memory surfaced in his mind. He'd once used the sword to cut a watermelon when he was six. Valka hadn't seen him in quite some time that day and got curious as to where his young son had run off to. He found Laverne in a room they never used, with a watermelon on a table and Laverne making an effort to lift Firestarter above his head. Valka sought to coax his child out of what he was doing, offering to cut the melon for him. Laverne cut the melon anyways, dropping the sword. He'd also sliced the table in half and left a deep gash in the floor. Valka let it go and ate the other half of the melon with his son, later explaining why Laverne shouldn't use the dangerous blade that way. The memory made Laverne smile—just a tiny bit.

As Prince Laverne walked along, he came to a stop in front of a female soldier. She closely observed him, probably wondering why this dumb elf was lugging around a weapon he clearly can't carry?

Then, she situated herself in a fighting stance and lunged at him, barely giving Prince Laverne any time to react.

Laverne felt the sharp pain in his chest. Something wet came from his mouth. Warm blood poured out of him. Laverne only wanted to scream. No sound came from him. He took a breath and the air was filled with the deafening high pitched sound of agony.

The girl covered her ears, she wasn't prepared for that. Laverne leaned on Firestarter before swinging it in a swift motion and beheading the enemy before him. The sword was light as a feather suddenly.

Die.

All he saw was red.

Die. Die!

A spear tip ripped through Laverne's chest from behind. But Laverne didn't desire to scream this time.

The other soldier was dead in a few seconds. Laverne became strong when fearing for his life, enabling him to properly wield the hulking sword. Something burned inside him. Fury.

There had been a time that Laverne Ingerman would have been unable to hurt somebody. He never imagined he'd spill the blood of someone else. Elves were supposed to protect life, right? In the present, he didn't know.

The young adult Elf Prince felt years of repressed resentment boiling in his heart. Laverne had always stood next to his father, smiling politely and holding his tongue. He didn't want to do that anymore. If he died today, it wouldn't matter anyways. Nobody would know that he cracked. There was nobody but soon to be dead soldiers nearby. He'd put up with years of smiling to crowds, telling them he was okay. He had been okay, he had a loving family and a beautiful life. The people of Arün placed him on a pedestal but kept him under their thumbs. He had been fine with that. Now, he was done being controlled. A warrior was running wild.

Prince Laverne tore through the hordes of soldiers, letting his rage out on all of them. He was met with many more wounds despite when he had Valka in his sights, he had been unsure if the blood he was drenched in from head to toe was his or the fallen foe's.

That was when he collapsed in front of one of them. His body wouldn't continue. He was dying. It didn't scare him, at first. Yet lying on the cobblestone roads of his city covered in blood he wasn't even sure was from his own veins instilled fear in him. He was going to die today.

Was it the thought of knowing he wouldn't exist after today? Or was it the fact that he was losing mass amounts of blood by the minute? He didn't know. He couldn't speculate on a reason. There were too many emotions mixing into one and somebody outside was thrashing the cauldron about, making it harder to discern what he had been feeling. His body was too numb.

Their swords had cut open his chest and the white bone of his ribcage was visible. Hell, if they looked close enough, they could see right through the fleshy bits to the other side of his body. Laverne Ingerman had collapsed to his knees in front of one of them. He reached a bloody hand out, shakily. Perhaps he was asking for mercy. Perhaps he'd planned to trick them if they took his hand. His long, slender fingers curled as he reached as far out as possible. His outstretched arm retracted as his body slumped to the ground. His other hand curled around the sword that sealed the darkness, a blade born of sun and fire. The one in front of him watched carefully, half expecting him to utter his last words.

Instead, the second Laverne Ingerman's fingers entwined with the sword's grip, the dying elf's eyes lit up a brilliant gold in unison with the Elven rune symbols along the blade. He drifted into slumber as something else took hold, something otherworldly. And he said in the calmest effect that sent his once sweltering dread back at his enemies, "Not today."

The rune symbols of the sword that held his name appeared on his forehead. His hair turned to flame in sync with the sword. The flames were a brilliant orange, then they exploded into a brilliant blue.