Bloodlines will burn

Flashes of memories that hailed from the massacre in his homeland, ever tortured his mind, playing the lead in his daily nightmares still. The only real victim from that bloodbath was his dearly beloved mother, Adaline. Her crimson blood had been shed for nothing, and for everything at once. It had been his half-brother’s doing, ordering his then fiancée to slice a sword through Adaline’s abdomen, instantly killing her in the process. Not knowing that Arwen had been forced and blackmailed to do so, in a rage of grief Vestyn had ended her life almost immediately after his mother’s passing. He still regretted that action to this day, years after the actual event itself, even though he never truly loved her in the way she deserved to be loved.

The blonde man blamed only one man for the course of events that had occurred during that fatal day – the darkest day of his life. Ragnar. Vestyn had faced him in battle just mere weeks ago and had lost that fight spectacularly. His half-brother had left him to die out there on the open plains in Valance, and he would have died if it had not been for a kind healer passing by to save him from that imminent fate. She had cared for him and watched over him while the battle wounds on his torso slowly began to heal. The woman had managed to stitch him up enough for him to make the journey to the lands of Odiria. The realm had been the last known location of his half-brother. Vestyn would not rest until he had avenged his mother, even if it meant risking his life in the process.

A weary sigh left the depths of his lungs, only to immediately dissolve into thin air as soon as it left the safe barricade of his lips. The blonde man felt his body struggle to hold on to life with each step his black steed took. The black stallion knew that his rider was holding on for dear life, even with the previously given medical attention by the healer. Dangling at the edge of his consciousness, Vestyn had somehow found his way into the city of Ishgard. His body was not able to hold on for much longer. While losing his grasp on reality, he felt his limbs become numb and mere seconds later he kissed the muddy street below him.

The last thing that left his lips before he blacked out, was the name of a woman. “Leyla… I need to find Leyla Iskandar.”

Leyla Iskandar

His head was pounding, flashes of memories he could not recall in the moment tortured any and all of his brain cells. He was unable to lift his eyelids, as they were too tired, it seemed. His fingertips touched some sort of soft fabric, just as the rest of his body did. Something also lay on top of him – a blanket, perhaps? It was certainly far from uncomfortable, that was for sure. If the circumstances had been different, he would have liked to stay in this warm and cozy bed for far longer. But since Vestyn had no clue as to where he was, he deemed it a better fitting idea to solve that matter first.

The first few attempts to open his orbs failed miserably, but his spirit did not give in and eventually, he prevailed. An overdose of light almost burned away the retinas of his eyes. It took him a while to get used to the amount of light before his blue orbs were able to register his surroundings. What the blonde man saw, surprised him. He had not expected to wake up inside such a luxurious room, let alone know how he had ended up here. His attention got caught by three silhouettes in the chamber’s murky left corner near the entrance, and instantly a feeling of mistrust overruled any confusion he had felt about the situation before.

Vestyn instinctively knew that he had to get out of this unknown place, away from these people he did not recognize as acquaintances – or enemies. He tried to get up from the bed but was immediately pushed back into the cushions by a razor-sharp pain in his abdomen. Out of nowhere, it all came back to him. The duel with Ragnar, his half-brother’s longsword cutting through skin and flesh when it entered his abdomen, the immense bleeding coloring his shirt and trousers a dark crimson red, and in the end, the feeling of imminent death waiting for his body to give in to the suffering. A healer had managed to stitch his wounds enough to prevent him from bleeding out. It was also the last thing he remembered. Now, he lay in this bed, in this unknown room, and with these strangers looking at him as if he was someone to be pitied.

Suddenly, a weariness he had not felt before took him by surprise. Vestyn fought against the tempting feeling of passing out again, but he could not let that happen, not before he had gained some answers from these people. Turning his head towards them, his eyes met a dark-haired lady he vaguely recognized but could not recall from where. “Who are you? And more importantly, where am I?” The blonde lad asked impatiently, clearly demanding a response immediately.

He had awoken a reaction in the stranger girl he had not expected to see – was he that terrifying? He was all chained up in bandages and half-crippled, so he would not be able to cause her or the others in the room much harm. As the girl began to form words that would lead to a waterfall of sentences, the blonde man steadied himself in the pillows behind his back. The stranger-girl introduced herself as Leyla, the eldest daughter of some important gal Vestyn did not know – or perhaps he did once, but his memory was foggy beyond the present. The raven-haired girl, now named Leyla, proclaimed that he had been looking for her, calling out her name in the streets before he had collided with the mud and when everything went pitch-black.

A helpless princess. How dare she call him that? He could see right through her sturdy façade, behind it was most certainly only a nervous little girl to be found. It would be a bad move to out her like that, right now. They considered him still a guest, and he would not want to turn them from frenemies into actual enemies.

“I hate to be a party-pooper, but I have no idea what you are talking about. To be honest, my memory is kind of foggy, right now. I cannot recall much beyond a few moments ago.” Vestyn started, still a tad dizzy from the fall back in the streets of Ishgard. His deep blue orbs met Leyla’s, noticing she was already watching him. “I am most thankful for your family’s hospitality, and I am sorry for my initial hostile reaction.” The young lad gathered a few more ounces of strength, before he continued. “My name is Vestyn Tenebrae, and I wish I could tell you why I came looking for you, but my mind is completely blank. The last thing I remember is the confrontation with my half-brother.” Vestyn stated, not sure what Leyla would do with this nonsense information. They would probably kick him out of their estate, thinking he was some sort of wannabe knight. The blonde man wished he could tell her why he was here, but he was lost for words.