The Fight for Tréon: Prologue

Sibling Rivalry

Perched atop the loftiest tower in Tréon’s grandest city, gazing out over the magnificent kingdom that his people had built, Tariel couldn’t help but feel infallible. 

Massive domes and spires encircled the grand palace, and just beyond them, a ring of opulent estates with fortress-like homes. Farther out, Tariel 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. 

Even with his powerful eyesight, the city outskirts were a distant blur to Tariel, regardless of which direction he looked. 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, his expression thinly veiling his disappointment. He’d always known he’d be the one to accomplish great things—he’d barely been a century old when he began to realize how much grander his aspirations were than those of his siblings, or even their father. 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 soft-spoken, sitting stony-faced for the half hour they’d been gathered at the tower’s peak. 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 it would burst from him in a fit of rage. In fact, it was because of his temper that they’d stopped having their decennial summits in luxurious, fully furnished chambers—up here, 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 Tariel, 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.

Over the years, Pelara and her jungle-dwelling descendants regularly 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.

Pelara 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.

“I see. That does sound more interesting than how I’ve always assumed you spend your time. And will you be sabotaging any more of our building projects today?”

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

“Brother, you wound me! What makes you think I would ever do such a thing?”

Tariel rolled his eyes. “Oh please, Pelara. 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 Volir’s direction, but his brother 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, Tariel?” 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. Must every meeting we have be exactly the same? 

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.

But over time, he’d been forced to accept that he was wrong. Pelara lacked vision. Volir would always go his own way. Ultimately, Tariel alone must take on the heavy burden of lifting their world to the heights he’d envisioned for it since he was a child. When their father returned, he would not allow Tréon to be choked with unkempt jungle, or overrun with reclusive mountain folk and tribes of wild savages.

For more than half of his life, Tariel had channeled his time, energy, and passion into creating a modern utopia. The sprawling kingdom that surrounded him now was the fruit of his labor—or, more accurately, half of the fruit; to the east of Holis, another rapidly growing city buzzed with activity.

But his aspirations were nearing a massive barrier. Although Tréon was more than large enough to accommodate the progress he dreamed of, his people were quickly running out of usable land for expansion. Nearly half of the planet was covered in dense jungle, including much of the space separating his two kingdoms. Not only were the rainforests of Tréon inhabited by thousands upon thousands of Pelara’s primitive descendants, but his sister also insisted on fighting him over every inch of progress he or his people dared to take.

Volir was becoming an obstacle for Tariel, as well. For years, he had happily ignored his brother’s mountain-dwelling descendants, all of them as unambitious as their creator. However, his plans were evolving, and the world would need to adapt. For one, the Keskell Mountains where Volir’s people kept their villages were abundant with resources that would be needed for Tariel’s kingdoms to expand. He also had his sights on the lands beyond the mountains, which he knew to be vast, empty, and fertile. When the time came for him and his people to take their next steps into the future, they’d need clearer paths through Tréon.

Put simply, something had to give. And that’s what had been on Tariel’s mind leading up to this conclave.

Finally, he eased gingerly into his seat, steepling 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. “But what about you, brother? Are you ready to lead your people charging into Tréon’s future, or will you follow Pelara’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 speak 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 join you. You continue building your grand cities, and you, Pelara, continue growing your jungles. So long as you leave my mountains alone, I wish you both the best of luck.”

Tariel eyed his brother with a muted disappointment. His attitude was nothing new, although it was the most Tariel 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. At times, he could even appreciate his stoicism. But ultimately, all that mattered was Tréon’s future.

“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.