A/N: I am terribly, terribly sorry for the long wait I’ve made you all endure. O__O An entire year without updates. Gosh. It’s been hectic. I barely updated my FP, and I didn’t even read the 300 pages of French I had to read; THAT’s how bad it is. But here I am again, and unless it’s as hectic as last year, more updates should come...

But then again, I –am- in uni now!! Congratulate me, darlings!

Now, following this train of thought, last update, I said, “Next chapter is storytime!”. Unfortunately, I have no idea whatsoever what that meant. So I’ll just go on with what I think will work.

Just to quickly summarize and catch up with the characters;

Alan became a knight-in-training for King Philip under Knight Adam, who doesn’t fall in the role of teacher quite well. He rooms with Terry, son of Master Theobalt and future herb master. He weaves through the lives of various fellow fighters, such as the twins Kael (the good twin) and Kyan Blackwood (the dark one), and Samantha, female Knight.

Chapter eight: Prophecy

In vain, Alan raised his sword, though Adam was too fast for him. In under a second, he had slashed his weapon away, disarmed him, and had shoved him against the cold ground. Such was the routine of his life; an incessant battle against impenetrable forces.

“I won,” he boasted again, his deep voice bordering laughter. “Twenty-eight versus zero. Come on, kid, I’m not even trying!”

“Can we take a little break?” Alan panted heavily, struggling to sit up. Deeming it impossible, he remained sprawled on the ground in a wretched attempt to appear pitiful. Sweat rolled down his face and onto his clothes, making him shudder at the sudden coldness.

“Sure, I’ll be back in five,” Adam said as he shrugged. These days, he wanted nothing more than to get away from his student, and any excuse to do so was welcome for both of them. Whirling around, the disgruntled teacher made his way towards the castle, leaving his student alone in the middle of the empty training field.

The teenager sighed as he sat up slowly. The black-haired man had definitely turned up the cruelty meter; they would not only get up at the crack of dawn to train, they also sparred four times a week after supper. Now, stars were littering the clear sky and torches surrounded the training field, though only a few would be crazy enough to train at that time of day.

He had made it through three weeks of training. Twenty-one days of cruel practice, of heavy lifting, of blood and bruises, and Alan had to admit; he hated most of it. Though he did go through some great moments; his short escapades with Terry and his three sparring matches with Samantha, along with encouragements from Kael, all drove him to continue.

“One day, it’ll be better,” he whispered to himself. “I won’t be the underdog in a year or so...”

“Alan Randall?”

Quickly, the knight-to-be looked behind him. There stood an aging man with chin-length white hair. He sported no facial hair except a small pinch on his chin. His clothing attire consisted of long silver robes, and upon his neck were various charms, along with a large wooden cross. His face, though, was what made Alan recognize him, especially through the striking resemblance he had with his son.

Getting to his feet, he hurriedly outstretched his hand. “Master Theobalt! Hi!”

“Hello, son,” the savant replied, smiling warmly, returning his handshake.

“I was going to come see you,” the boy eagerly replied, his unhappiness over his training forgotten. “I heard you drew pretty accurate portraits of the future, and I was going to ask about mine!”

“Which is why I came to see you right away, Alan.” The man’s bushy brows knotted. “However, I do not believe that I come with great news.”

Alan’s face fell again. Anxiousness began to seep through him, and he took a step towards the older man cautiously. “Did something happen to my family? My Ma and Pa, are they alright?”

“I do not come to speak of others’ fates, but of your own,” Terry’s father said quietly. “Alan, I came to tell you to resign, boy.”

The world stopped for a second. He even forgot to breathe for a few seconds. “Resign?” All through his training, people had been encouraging. Now this man wanted to tell him to quit?

“I am afraid that you are going down the wrong path in life, Alan. I speak to the Lord on a regular basis, and He has told me that you are not spending your days in a useful manner.” His face then turned pitiful. “My boy, you will never be a Knight.”

Alan’s face blanched. Even though he had considered quitting, it had never been a real option. Struggling not to hit the savant out of anger, he shook his head, gritting his teeth. “I will be a Knight. You can’t force me to leave this place.”

Master Theobalt smiled sadly. “I didn’t mean that your fate wasn’t within the walls of the castle, boy. I only meant that you would not be battling amongst the sword-wielders. I apologize.”

“No!” The outburst was so sudden that the older man stilled, his face suddenly prudent. The flickers cast by the surrounding torches were the only things moving as Alan breathed heavily. Then, in a split second, he whirled around, remembering all the times Terry had spoken of his father’s great premonitions, and began to run.

He knew that Adam would be angry, but he didn’t care. He would not be staying close to that horrible man for a second longer. Let his teacher be mad on his own.

He would become a Knight, no matter what.

Furiously, Alan threw down his blade. It rattled against the floor of his home and slid away from him, coming to a stop against the far wall. Then, he went through the tedious task of removing every piece of armour, all which followed the sword in a heap.

Turning around, he sunk down on his bed, his head in his hands. His fingers formed fists as he tightened his hands in his red hair, anger evident in his entire posture. His body was trembling at the man’s audacity, at the sheer unfairness of what he had just been told.

“What a loony, stupid, fake fortune teller,” he grumbled under his breath, shuddering with fury.

The door of his home was then cautiously opened, and his roommate peered in. “Alan, are you okay?”

“Shut up. And go away, I don’t want to see you,” he snapped coldly. He ignored the rational part of him, the part that told him that Terry had nothing to do with this; he couldn’t be responsible for his father’s actions.

Terry did the exact opposite; he slipped in and went to sit at the foot of his own bed, staring glumly at his best friend. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“What happened?” Alan jumped to his feet, stomping his foot childishly. “I’ll tell you what happened! Your lousy father is what happened!”

Terry cringed and pushed up his glasses. It wasn’t a secret that Master Theobalt and his son were very close. “He told me you were upset, and that I should come to check on you. But, like, what happened? What did he tell you? Don’t worry about it, whatever it is! I’m sure we can work our way through it.”

“Work our way through it?” Alan screeched. “Terry, he told me I’d never be a Knight!”

The silence was palpable after the comment. Alan glared at his best friend, daring him to take a stand for his ‘perfect’ father. Then, after a few awkward minutes, Terry spoke up.

“I’m terribly sorry, Al...”

“What do you mean, ‘I’m sorry?’ What about, ‘He’s wrong, Alan! You will be a Knight!’?”

Terry shrugged lightly, apologies written clear on his face. “I believe in my Pa’s predictions, Al... Everything he’s predicted has come true so far, and even though I really, really, really don’t like the outcome, I trust him. Did he tell you what you will become instead?”

“Terry!” Alan burst out. “I don’t want to know! I don’t believe him! I. will. Be. A. Knight. Of. Mercerand!”

Then, without casting another look upon his best friend, he sunk on his bed and blew out the candle. Rudely, he turned his back to the boy and shut his eyes, ignoring him. He heard Terry crawl under his covers and snuff out his candle. Before he fell asleep, he could swear he heard the softest sob muffled through the covers.

It was past midnight when Kyan crumbled.

He fell to his knees, momentarily unable to move, as he panted. Over an hour of running and shooting at various targets while being half-blind through the darkness was hard work, even for a strong knight.

For a brief second, he considered heading back home. However, facing his brother’s worried glances didn’t quite sound appealing. Therefore, he stood up, and decided to take his time picking up his arrows.

One by one, he plucked them from targets. His path started in the middle of the training field, went all the way around the castle, and then returned to his original place. He had gotten halfway through his course when someone began to walk his way.

He quickened his walk, not being in the mood to talk to anyone. He also ducked his head, his dark hair falling in front of his hardened face. The sound of his feet hitting the smooth concrete was the only noise when the figure became a woman, a maid to be more precise.

The archer barely acknowledged her, vaguely noticing she wore a beige robe and a tattered brown apron. However, when he locked eyes with her terrified ones, he stopped cold. Now, the dead silence was marred by his laboured breaths as his wild eyes stared at her.

The maid unconsciously took a step back, her face suddenly afraid. She then uttered in a soft voice, “Y-you’re not Kael.”

He almost snorted. “Most certainly not.” Then, he took a step forward, his anger evident, though he halted only a few feet from her, staring at her cruelly.

The tension rose as the girl took a frightened step back. “What are you doing?”

Kyan only leaned down and slid a pocket knife from his pocket. He twirled it through his fingers once, a devilish smirk lighting his features briefly, letting her feeble imagination create horrid scenarios in her mind. Quietly, he murmured, “Run, lady. Run as fast as you can.”

So she did.

He watched her frantically gather her skirts, running as fast as her legs would carry her. He put his knife back in its carrier and resumed his walk around the castle slowly. Surely, that maid would report to her friends that Kyan Blackwood was a maniac, a dangerous man; then, maybe, they’d leave him alone. Maybe he wouldn’t be compared to his brother anymore. Just maybe, he could be bad to the point of no-return, so his fellow knights would give up on him and let him be.

Plucking his last arrow from a wall, Kyan headed home.

A/N: Hi!

Yes, this is it. :/ Not only did I make you wait, but it’s super short.

I’ve already begun chapter ten though... :D

Review!

Take care!