It wasn’t supposed to end this way for him. He was promised a throne of gold, not a seat of mud. And yet, here he was, his knees buried in the depths of the brown ooze of earth and his Cloak ripped from his shoulders. The Guards shoved him to the ground and his perfectly combed hair fell into his eyes while tears of the sky pelted down on him harshly. His back was facing towards the dark roaring abyss above them, he could feel the sting of the water hitting his flesh. He was laid bare with his wings restricted and clenched tightly together painfully by a coil of dragon heart string. The odds have always been in his favor ever since he was born. He was the son of the King of the Avians and the leader of their realm. He was raised in royalty and trained for brilliance. His greatest achievement was earning his Cloak of Honor, given to Guardians who won battles and fought wars. A Cloak given to those in high accord. But here he was, with the cloth ripped from his shoulders and his pride buried along with his knees in the filthy slush of Earth. Surrounding him? A crowd of beings with large feathered wings twice the size of their bodies, all silent and waiting for what was to come. This could only go one way, it was in fact his judgement day. “Please,” He choked, his breath a cloud in front of him, “Please don’t do this.” His wings trembled in their tight bundle, the pain brought about by the dragon heart string was searing. A man cloaked in black hovered over him like a dark ominous cloud. He was the picture of excellence, but you couldn’t expect any less from the King's right hand man, the Head of the High Avians Guard. A man he knew to be his mentor, the man who trained him to fight even when he thought he couldn’t any longer. A man who taught him pain was only temporary, but one loss could cost them everything. The man in front of him didn’t flinch at his desperate tone, his strong jaw merely tightened, his eyes grew stone-like, and his shoulders stiffened. “Michael, please, don’t do this,” He choked, straining to keep his eyes open under the heavy pour of the rain, “I’ll do anything.” Michael didn’t budge. “Silas Nightingale, you have been charged with the disruption of peace, aiding and abetting a known criminal, becoming impure before wedlock, crossing bloodlines by means of impure nature, and by being a recently discovered marblood, how do you plead?” Michael boomed from in front of him, his hands planted firmly behind his back, his own Cloak of Honor not even blemished from the conditions around them. Silas didn’t answer at first, only lowered his head, not able to meet the eyes of his mentor who would soon send him to his damnation. He didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t speak, the lump pushing painfully up his throat. Why is he being punished for not being a pureblood? It wasn’t his fault how he was conceived. “He’s guilty.” An Avian yelled from the back of the crowd that surrounded them. “Yeah, guilty.” said another from across the courtyard, and soon the entire crowd of Avians were screaming and chanting for him to be damned. Silas hung his head low, his shame evident in his posture which was usually perfect. At one time, these same people cheered for him. “How do you plead, marblood?” Michael repeated voicing the last word with nothing but pure venom, his eyes narrowing at his pupil beneath him. The crowd silenced. Silas swallowed the lump in his throat. His people are waiting for his response. His people? Were they even his people anymore? Could he look upon them as that, if they couldn’t even touch him? A fire ignited in his dark eyes and he raised his head and pulled back his shoulders, straining against the pull of the telepathy holding him down. He met the eyes of his mentor defiantly. He was going to show no weakness in front of these self righteous bastards. That was what they wanted, they wanted him to be weak. “I plead guilty.” Silas spat, his eyes shining with anger and a new defiance that Michael had never seen in his star pupil. Hesitation flickered across Michaels face, but as soon as it was there, it was gone. “Suspect pleads guilty,” Michael exclaimed for the crowds to hear and they cheered, Silas didn’t show emotion, he didn’t flinch at his mentors next words, “Silas Nightingale, you are sentenced to three rounds in the ring of fire,” He paused, “And the sever of your wings.” Silas' throat constricted and his breath left his lungs. The crowd which was once chanting, grew eerily silent at Michaels last proclamation. As if on cue, the crowds parted in front of them like the Red Sea had in the stories written in the tomes. Two large beings with wings the color of coal emerged from the darkness, cloaked in black, faceless due to the darkness of their hoods. The blood drained from Silas' face and his lips turned white. “No!” He exclaimed, his voice trembling, “No please!” They approached with two blades the color of ash, surrounded by a cool blue flame. “No!” He choked, “No, please don’t do this, don’t take my wings, please!” He struggled relentlessly against the hold of the telekinesis they held him down by but it was no use, he was much too weak. “Michael!” He shouted, his eyes losing their defiance and gaining a strong desperation as he met his mentors. “Don’t do this, I’ll do anything!” Michael’s stone-like eyes didn’t show the slightest sign of emotion as he raced his hand and snapped his fingers, which released the heart string that bound Silas’ wings together so tightly. As soon as the burning string was released he extended his wings with a spring-like swiftness and he groaned, it was no use trying to take off, there were too many of them. They approached painfully slow, his heart was a drum in his chest and his eyes were saucers, never leaving the glowing Blades of Virtue. His breath but puffs of white air in front of his face. This was it. He hung his head as they raised the blades above his extended wings and clenched his teeth so tightly he could feel them cracking in his skull. With a slice and two thuds later, he dropped into the muck beneath him, the world fading away around him. Fragments of his thoughts and memories scattered through his dreamscape, reminiscent of all the things he had done and fragmenting outward. He dropped deeper into the unconscious haze, memories of the Whitebrook countryside he had grown up in creating a cloudy visual in his mind. ••• He awoke with a jolt as cold water was splashed on him, with a gasp he pulled his face from the muck beneath him and studying his surroundings. It was bright- to bright he squinted his eyes as he pushed himself up from the mud, his hands and knees sinking into the ground before he finally stood to full height, gathering himself before he stepped forward and began to study his surroundings once more. He was in a cell block of the arena, a crowd growing in the large stands above him. He could hear the thunder of their chants. A sharp burning pain shot through his back and he hissed, hunching over a bit at the pain. His wings- how did they expect him to defend himself. “Come on, marblood.” The guard said, and Silas looked up seeing a Taurus badge on his chest plate. One of the upper level knights. Why did they have an upper level knight guarding arena prisoners? Or was it just him? “I said, come on!” Silas obeyed reluctantly and stepped out of the cell. The weight of the shackles were quickly relieved as the Knight waved his hand over them and they released with a click before falling to his feet. He didn’t have much time to think before he was shoved towards the steel gate leading to the arena. He watched ahead as they walked while the other guards opened the gate with a few waves of their hands. The Knight chuckles as Silas stopped in front of the entrance to the arena, and Silas looked up at him with confusion. What was so funny? “What?” Silas spat, glaring at the giggling Knight. The Knight didn’t answer and just shoved him forward with an evil smirk on his face. Silas didn’t have time to think before the gate rose with the clanking of chains and the brightness of the arena suddenly burnt his eyes. He was shoved once more, “Go!” He glared at the Knight before stepping into the arena while the gate closed behind him. The sound of the crowds grew louder at the sight of him. He scanned the area around him, a post stood from the ground 30 feet tall with his sheath and sword dangling from it. He shifted his footing on the ground. The cold dirt biting into his flesh. He had no idea where to go. What to do. They left him with nothing but a sword. He looked to the sky as the roar from the crowd grew louder and louder, praying to God that he made it out of this alive. One Hundred yards ahead of him was the gate of steel, he could smell the stench of burning flesh and see the scorch marks on the dirt all over the arena. This was where they brought the Avians who committed treason. He, himself has won a lot of money in the betting pools. He could hear the announcer begin the opening with the happiest voice Silas had ever remembered hearing. “Now, the Avian who committed multiple treasons will take on three rounds with the white scaled dragon we all know and love as Orion!” The announcer continued, “Nightingale will have a total of ninety seconds each round to capture the flag hanging from Orion’s tail before the timer stops and that round is lost.” With rapid breathes and a heart thumping in his chest he looked across the arena to the gate of steel. Capture the flag, this was what they chose for his punishment. His favorite arena game to watch. It opened its eyes, he could see them, wide glowing between the bars of the gate and his breath caught in his throat. It’s growl was almost hiss-like, and as the gate clambered open and the snout emerged first. He felt as if his soul left his body and his nerves prickled beneath his skin. He stood frozen still. A beast so large and impossibly white, it’s scales flickering like pearls under the bright lighting which peaked through the white clouds. Claws like swords that dug into the soggy ground and bat-like wings. It circled him from a distance and he never turned his back on it. It’s predatory eyes shooting daggers. He could see the glow in its nostrils, a fire was churning. Then what felt like hours later in between seconds, it opened its mouth and hissed like a snake, it’s scales rattling threateningly, it’s teeth razor sharp. He could see the glare of the fire in the back of its throat. Just as he was about to take a step back, it’s bat-like wings extended and with one swoop it was in the air hovering above him, hissing down at him, ready to pounce. He glanced in the direction of his sword which hung twenty feet away and with one last glance at the beast he darted towards his only weapon. With a ray of fire aiming in his direction from its mouth he jumped, reaching for the sword.