The Fight for Tréon: Prologue

Sibling Rivalry

Today, Tariel would take the first steps toward creating a perfect future.

Perched on the rooftop terrace of the loftiest tower in Tréon’s grandest city, gazing out over the magnificent kingdom that his people had built, he couldn’t help but feel infallible. Soon, the wonderful image of society’s great progress laid out before him would be mirrored a hundred times over, only each sprawling metropolis would be grander than the last. But on this day, the promise of an ever-advancing world was not what invigorated him.

Over the last few months, as his unwitting subjects traveled lands distant and near, and their ‘leaders’ made great plans for the expansion of his empire, Tariel had arrived at an important decision: Before their decennial meeting concluded this afternoon, his brother and sister would either submit to his cause—the only cause that truly mattered—or cement their places as forgotten footnotes of Tréon’s cluttered history. The former would make things simpler, but he had to admit, a significant part of him hoped for the latter. The latter would be so much more fun.

For several minutes, he basked in the glorious view of the city, unbothered by the cold gusts of wind that periodically scaled the tower and washed over him. To the east, massive domes and spires encircled the grand palace, and just beyond them, a ring of opulent estates with fortress-like homes. Farther out, he could see the buzzing hive that was the city’s lower district, where thousands of faceless workers toiled to keep the kingdom flourishing and growing. Their days were long and their lives short, but their sacrifices were appreciated—and necessary.

Even with his sharp eyesight, the outskirts of Holis were a distant blur to Tariel no matter which direction he looked. If he didn’t know better, he might believe the city went on forever—but no, that wasn’t the case. Not yet, anyway.

It had taken only three generations for his people to achieve what was laid out before him, a bustling splendor, and although he was nowhere near satisfied, it was infinitely superior to what his siblings had accomplished.

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes from the sprawling city below and sauntered back to the onyx table where his brother and sister waited. Resting his hands on the back of his chair, Tariel paused to look each of them over, not bothering to disguise his disappointment. He’d always known he’d be the one to achieve great things; he’d barely been a century old when he began to realize how much loftier his aspirations were than those of his siblings—or even their father, for that matter. But he’d never imagined how insignificant their plans truly would be—if they could even be called ‘plans’.

Tariel’s gaze fell on Volir first. The rays of sunlight peeking through the clouds reflected brightly off his brother’s bald head, though he had more than enough crimson hair on his chin to make up for what his scalp lacked. As always, he wore drab, nondescript attire: a buttoned brown shirt, dark trousers, and a pair of heavy work boots that he’d probably had for years. 

Volir was the soft-spoken one in their dysfunctional little family, sitting stony-faced and silent. He’d never been the type for idle chit chat, and at these meetings, his quiet nature lent him an excuse to avoid conflict with his siblings. However, a smoldering intensity lingered under the surface, and every so often Tariel had watched it burst from him in a fit of terrifying rage. In fact, it was because of his temper that they’d stopped having their summits in luxurious, fully furnished chambers—up here, on the roof, there was little to destroy.

Unlike Tariel, Volir’s ambitions had never included sprawling kingdoms or towers that scraped the clouds. His people were reclusive, content to spend insignificant lives in their little mountain villages and caves, abdicating their moral duty to help Tréon reach its full potential. And Volir wasn’t the least bit bothered by it; after all, their paltry ambition mirrored his.

As much as Volir disappointed him, Pelara was infinitely worse. Sitting nonchalantly, their sister wore the arrogant smirk that Tariel had grown to loathe. Since they were children, she’d always had a knack for getting under his skin, and she stayed there as long as possible. At this point, aggravating him was second-nature. Even her appearance annoyed him, as he had to admit she looked rather regal sitting cross-legged in her sleek, forest-green dress. Her bare arms were adorned with various woven bracelets, and a crown of purple flowers was nestled in her pearl-colored hair.

Every chance they got, Pelara and her jungle-dwelling descendants interfered with Tariel’s goals of mass expansion. A new watchtower would be enveloped by trunk-like vines that sprang from the ground, or dense fields of bright-red bloodbane flowers would appear overnight to inundate a construction site with toxic fumes. Pelara believed that the surface of Tréon should be wild and unrestrained, and in her eyes, the grand structures and cities built by Tariel’s people stained the land.

She met Tariel’s glare with a defiant smile. “Look, Volir, our beloved brother has at last grown tired of stroking his own ego and decided to join us.”

Volir only grunted—maybe in approval, maybe to disagree, in any case unintelligibly—but Pelara wasn’t deterred. “The city has grown quite a bit, Tari. It’s just a shame your people couldn’t come up with anything more attractive than big gray buildings surrounded by smaller gray buildings. They really do take after you, don’t they?”

Tariel’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he glared down at his sister. “Although I personally find beauty in those ‘big gray buildings’, it’s interior design where my people truly shine. Remind me to give you a tour of the palace later. I know it may not be as impressive as your… bushes and trees, but I can promise you that there are plenty of colors.”

Pelara gave him her sweetest smile. “Such a kind offer! Regrettably, I’ll have to pass—my schedule is simply bursting today. For instance, it’ll be raining later, and I need to sit and watch the dirt turn to mud.” She made a pained expression and shrugged.

Tariel clenched his jaw, then immediately willed himself to relax. He would not stoop to her level—not today. “I see,” he said with forced calm. “Does that mean you don’t have any building projects of mine to sabotage?”

Pelara dramatically feigned shock, prompting Volir to smirk—only for an instant, and then his stoic expression had returned.

“You wound me!” she said, placing both hands to her chest. “What makes you think I would ever do such a thing?”

Tariel rolled his eyes. “Must we always play these games? Despite what I’m sure you tell yourself, your little acts of vandalism have all the subtlety of Volir’s mountain men at a dinner party.” He shrugged apologetically in his brother’s direction, but the big man didn’t seem particularly offended. “Perhaps instead of using your power over the natural world to be a mildly annoying pest, you could use it to accomplish something worth remembering.”

“And what would that be?” In an instant, Pelara’s voice had lost its humor. “Would it be worth remembering if I were to annihilate an entire rainforest and all of its inhabitants in the name of progress?” She spat the last word like poison on her tongue. Abruptly, she stood and gestured widely to the vast city that surrounded them. “If this giant stain on our world is your idea of a great achievement, then I’m happy to disappoint you.”

Tariel opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself, sighing wearily as he absently straightened his silken gray tunic. She’d made her choice long ago. 

For over a century, he’d suffered a different version of this argument every ten years. For what was, in hindsight, a foolishly long time, he’d believed that he could bring his sister around to his worldview—what he had always known to be true: With the gifts they’d been given, Tréon’s potential was unfathomable, and it was their duty to make sure it was realized. Whether out of some misplaced familial loyalty or the desire to win the debate, he’d tried many, many times to sway her. But no more. Pelara, despite all her gifts, lacked vision, and Tariel was finished trying to help her see.

Shooting his sister a disappointed look, he eased gingerly into his seat and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Clearly,” he began, “time has not made Pelara see things my way. I can’t say that I’m surprised.” He turned his attention to Volir, who was yet to utter anything that would qualify as a word. Truthfully, he’d always held a fondness for his quiet, unambitious brother, but he had little interest in collaborating with the temperamental man. However, the mountains where his people dwelled were not only abundant with valuable resources, but they also stood defiantly between Tariel’s kingdoms and thousands of acres of fertile land. Having Volir’s cooperation would eliminate several major obstacles to his ambitions. Without it, his planned expansion to the north would be far slower and more costly—both in gold spent and lives lost. “But what about you?” he asked his brother, who met his gaze evenly. “Are you ready to lead your people charging into Tréon’s future, or will you follow our sister’s example and continue cowering in the past?”

Volir remained silent for an agonizing while as Tariel and Pelara watched him expectantly. Their brother was never one to answer hastily or allow himself to be rushed. When he finally spoke, all he said was “neither.”

“Neither?” Tariel said incredulously. “What exactly do you mean by that? And feel free to use more than one word.”

“I mean that I have no interest in your petty rivalry, and neither I nor my people will be joining you.”

“You can’t possibly expect to just… stay out of it. This is the future of the world we’re speaking of. Whether you like it or not, you have a role to play. Now, will you help me, or will you stand in my way?”

Volir shook his head and looked at Tariel, an unexpected hint of sadness in his eyes. “That’s exactly what I hope to do. If you truly knew me, this would not come as a surprise. I have no desire to interfere with your grand plans, but if you or your people do anything to threaten Meer or its inhabitants, there will be consequences.”

Tariel eyed his brother with a muted disappointment. His stubbornness was nothing new, although it was the most he had heard him speak in decades. But he’d hoped that, eventually, Volir would tire of reclusivity—or at least, decide that his people deserved some semblance of developed society. He held no ill will toward his brother, and in a way he respected his convictions. But ultimately, all that mattered was Tréon’s future. Clearly, it would be up to him and him alone to secure it. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tariel finally said—and he truly was. But it took him only a moment to accept it and steel himself for the things he’d soon have to do. “Well, I can see that you’ve both made your decisions, just as I’ve made mine.”

“And what decision is that?” asked Pelara, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“The decision to ensure that our world reaches its full potential, no matter the cost.” Slowly, Tariel rose from his chair. “And it will be my people who take it there.”

Without another word, he turned from his siblings at the table and began walking toward the roof’s edge. Pelara’s mocking voice trailed behind him, but he didn’t stop. “Always so dramatic, brother. Alright, then! See you in another ten years, I suppose.”

Tariel smiled to himself as the grand view of the city appeared before him. “Or perhaps, much sooner,” he said, too quietly for anyone else to hear. Stopping at the precipice, he closed his eyes and began to concentrate, ignoring the chilly wind that battered him and blocking out the distant hum of the city below. Soon, his body became one with the stone beneath his feet. In his mind’s eye, he saw it being molded, transformed, as smooth and malleable as if it were a ball of clay.

After a moment, he opened his eyes. Without a glance back at the table, he stepped casually down the neat granite staircase that now protruded from the side of the building. Descending leisurely, he took in the sight of the city, eventually letting his eyes drift to the distant horizon. He’d already accomplished so much, yet he was nowhere close to finished.